


Schattenkind (Shadow Child)

by MissTantabis



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Child Labor, Cults, Emotional Manipulation, Grooming, M/M, Manipulation, Mystery, Origin Story, Revolutionary War, Thriller, War, Young Gellert Grindelwald, indoctrination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2018-11-05 12:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 85,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: You shared an idea with me. You did not share who you are as a person with me. That is a difference.Gellert Grindelwald's past and deepest intentions have been an enigma for everybody. Even those, who thought they knew him. Albus Dumbledore and Percival Graves decide to discover the man behind the terrorist in hopes of understanding and defeating him better. But are they ready for what they will uncover? Will it make things easier? And how long can Albus hide his own secret?They are not the only ones who snoop around in unwanted business. Modesty and Credence Barebone may have been granted shelter by Grindelwald but they can tell that something bad surrounds their host. They find themselves be pulled deeper and deeper into a war, they have no point in being in. And why does Grindelwald understand them so well?In the meantime, Gellert Grindelwald does everything to advance his plans for the Greater Good. He may have found the perfect weapon in the Barebone children, but he is no fool. Lots of trickery will be needed to hide his true face from them. Moreover he has to stop an old friend from unearthing things he has no right to know.Status:ARCHIVED





	1. Is there any news?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone.  
> Thanks a lot for showing some intrest in this story. This is one of the first times I deceided to write something longer then just a oneshot. I really hope that you will enjoy this work. Comments, kudos and feedback is highly encouraged as it helps me to write and keeps me motivated.  
> Thanks a lot.  
> Miss T.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of this story except for my idea, additional characters and concepts. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, its characters and major locations are all property of JK. Rowling and Warner Bros. I am in no way associated with either party, and write this story for non-profit, entertainment purposes under the fair use claim only.  
> PS: This story will likely update monthly as I not only write each chapter but also edit each chapter and that takes a lot of time.

It was interesting how the news could draw a picture, which let an event sound far greater then it actually was. The news that Gellert Grindelwald had been defeated had spread like a wildfire, and even now, three weeks later, it still was mentioned in the news with the same euphoria then it had been on the first day.

This euphoria in some parts was even in MACUSA. The employees had been under pressure for the last few months, years even. There had been reports on what was going on in Europe. Some things might have been hearsay, but the rumours and facts were terrifying nonetheless. Fanatical wizards, attacking No-Majs in bright daylight. Kidnappings, killings. People disappearing without a trace. And it all had been the acts of a dark wizard, more powerful then any there had been before.

Gellert Grindelwald. Only three weeks ago that name alone could struck fear into the hearts of the bravest and boldest Aurors. Many had been searching for him, and many had found their death in doing so. The darkest wizard of the century. The press was not exaggerating when they had given him that name. Grindelwald was powerful, brutal, and nothing seemed to have stood in his way.

It felt almost surreal for Seraphina Picquery. The President of MACUSA was standing in her office, and sipped a cup of coffee. Seraphina was a tall woman of African-American descendants and had black hair with a golden curl in it. Her fingers were manicured perfectly, and she wore a long, glamorous dark dress with a silver thunderbird emblem stitched upon it, together with a black turban. Usually, she had a very intimidating and majestic appearance.

However, right now she looked less intimidating then a scarecrow. Picquery had rings under her eyes and kept rebalancing herself on her legs. Her make-up had to be reapplied what felt like every ten minutes. She had to resist the urge to snarl at people or yell at her employees for the dumbest and tiniest reasons possible. And the entire reason for her stress and agitation was the newspaper, laying on her desk.

In big, black block letters the following words were written upon it:

**GELLERT GRINDELWALD CAPTURED**

The dark wizard, Gellert Grindelwald, which has been terrorizing the Wizarding World for almost three years, has been captured the early evening in a subway station in New York City. A group of Aurors, lead by President Seraphina Picquery, have found Mister Grindelwald and managed to capture him with the help of British magizoologist, Newt Scamander.

What precisely has been happening down in the subway station has not been told to us by the government officials, however an insider could reveal to us, that it all had to do with the mysterious destruction of New York City by, what has now been confirmed, an Obscurus, which has been killed on Madam President’s orders. Moreover, rumours seem to have been confirmed, that Gellert Grindelwald has been disguising himself as the Director of Magical Security, Mister Percival Graves.

Right now Gellert Grindelwald is in one of the high security cells of MACUSA and awaiting trail. However many questions are still –

The rest of the text was not readable for the newspaper had been folded in the middle. On occasions Picquery would turn her head to glare at it as if she wished to let it go up in flames and burn to ash. Of course the disappearance of the newspaper did not equal the disappearance of her problems. She was not so stupid to kid herself in this regard.

Seraphina could not share into the euphoria and joy that the public had given into so easily. With the capture of Grindelwald, her work sadly was not completed. In fact, she now felt like she was even more stressed out. There were still so many unanswered questions, that needed to be solved. And she did not have time for solving them! Or rather the time she had was running out.

There was a knock at her door. Picquery quickly rose her cup and drunk another large gulp of coffee to hide her scolding face. “Enter”, she commanded. The door opened and two Aurors entered. One of them was a man, the other one a woman. The man was tall and wore a long, black waistcoat. His short, curly, brown hair was covered with a bowler. His cheekbones were prominent, just as his eyebrows. Green eyes glimmered in worry.

The woman was shorter and had a fair skin. Her brown hair was hidden under a small hat of her own, and she wore a long, blue coat, which almost hid her timid frame. The brown eyes darted around anxiously, and she kept burying her hands into her pockets. Next to the tall man, she almost disappeared in his shadow, however when Picquery turned her attention to her, Porpentina Goldstein steeled her stance.

Madam President slowly placed her cup on the desk. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. The President had given orders to Tobias Oates, her chief auror and, since Graves was gone now, temporarily Director of Magical Security, and Porpentina to report anything regarding Grindelwald towards her. They were tasked with something immensely difficult. It was no use if she worried them unnecessarily by showing just how stressed out she was. It was lonely on the top indeed.

Seraphina took a deep breath and then asked with a voice, which hardly trembled to her pleasure: “Is there any news?” Good. At least her voice did not betray any of her fears, anxieties and nerves, which were laying blank. 

Tobias Oates kept his hands in his pockets. He let out a slow sigh. His voice was deep and calming, but that did not make the message any sweeter: “No, Madam President. Everything is still like it is three weeks ago. He does not eat much, probably just enough to get by. He refuses to give us any information. He does not speak. He just stares at us, sitting in his cell. Waiting.”

Pi c query blinked in disbelief. This did not feel right. She had expected Grindelwald to at least do  _ something _ ! “ He does not do anything, Mr Oates?”, she reassured herself, “No mockery? No gloating?” Mister Oates shook his head.  “ No, nothing”, he said.

Piquery rolled her eyes. She asked: “ Have our Aurors managed to penetrate his mind at least?” Maybe in this field there had been some success. However Tina stepped forwards and confirmed: “We tried. But it is fruitless.” The brown haired woman rose her arms helplessly to underline her next words. “His mind...it is too well protected. It is not like you run against a wall  like with most criminals. It is more like, I dunno how to put this, Madam President, but it is like his mind attacks us once we try to penetrate it. Nobody has been able to dodge the attacks. It is like facing a wall of poisonous snakes. We all got knocked out.”

“Great, just great.” Seraphina slowly rubbed her temples as she listened to the way Grindelwald was outmanoeuvring them all. _He takes me for a fool!_ It upset her greatly. They had caught the most darkest wizard of the century, which had been a feed in itself, and yet it seemed he still was having everything under control. The feeling of being presented like a puppet on a stage enraged Seraphina.

But that was not even her major concern. “ I know, you are worried about Mr. Graves. We are trying our best. I can assure you that.” It was as if Porpentina Goldstein had read her mind. Picquery tried not to flinch. Had her worry been this obvious? Ever since she had learned that Grindelwald had replaced Percival Graves, she had been filled with shame and anger towards her own self. How could she not have noticed something so crucial? 

Moreover, what consequences had her foolishness caused? How long had Graves been impersonated? Picquery could not tell! It could be only a few weeks and days, but it could also be months! What had happened to Graves in these months? He could have been tortured. He probably had been. And she had noticed nothing! Nothing!

Tobias spoke slowly as if he did not want to anger the president further: “ Madam President, I know that you hope for him to be alive and that we must find him… But you also have to understand that there is the possibility that he might be -” 

He was cut short be an enraged Picquery, who shouted:  “ I know what the  _ worst _ possibility is, Mister Oates! Do not act like I am some young newbie in the Auror department. I trained alongside Mr. Graves, who as you know very well trained you. So please, spare me this long talk and get to your point! Is there any chance that we can find Mr. Graves?” She had moved up to him and now pointed a finger at him, demanding an answer.

Mr. Oates backed away and took a deep breath. Brushing his large hand through his dark, short hair, he admitted: “ I…don’t know, Madam President. As long as Grindelwald refuses to cooperate, I am rather  p essimistic.” He dropped his head. Picquery slowly lowered her arm and her heart sank. What to do? What method of getting an answer had they not yet tried? How did you force an answer out of someone, who refused to talk? By torture? They had already tried to rip the memories out of Grindelwald’s brain, and Seraphina had seen how well this worked.

There was a quiet cough. Picquery slowly turned her head. Tina was pulling at her sleeves, an action she often did when she was nervous. Shifting in her stance again and again, she finally blurted out: “ Madam President, I hate to bring this subject into debate, but we haver received a few letters from the other governments. They will sent their delegates to discuss who may put Gellert Grindelwald on trail. In fact, they are already on their way and will probably arrive in three days.”

“Three days? This cannot get any worse. Grindelwald, you cunt!” The words were out before Picquery could stop them. Tina and Mr. Oates took a step back as if someone had slapped them in the face. They shared odd glances, before Mr. Oates said anxiously: “Madam President! Your language...”

“Don’t give me a lecture about my language now, Mister Oates!”, Seraphina replied and gestured angrily, cheeks red in her rage, “I am supposed to appear before a group of delegates in three days in perfect condition and present some kind of result. Where is the result?! We do not have a result! Heck, we did not even manage to get the possible whereabouts of our Director of Magical Security after three _bloody_ weeks! We will appear as incompetent and stupid before everybody else. So, I am not sorry, Mister Oates, but I do not give a flying feather about my language right now!”

“Okay...”, Mr. Oates started, however once again Madam President shut him down quite effectively: “Don’t okay my face! I know you actually wanna say more. I am done with this.” She headed outside, still talking. “I am gonna talk with Grindelwald myself. By Merlin’s dog’s dog shit!”

Tina and Mr. Oates followed suit. “Merlin’s dog’s dog shit?”, repeated the reinstated Auror with a hushed whisper, “ Mercy Lewis, she must be mad.” The chief Auror gave no reply to that, however Porpentina could tell that he was equally worried. They followed Seraphina Picquery, who lead them in a straight line through the Auror Department. They all climbed into a small, golden lift, which resembled more a bird cage then a lift, and rushed down.

The lift halted in a darker and less glamorous corridor. The walls were made of solid stone, and there was a line of gas lamps, hanging from the ceiling, above their heads. In the dull, orange light one could see a large, metal door. Picquery stepped towards it and drew out her wand. Thrusting it into the lock, which seemed to be encased in the door, she turned it around.

There was a faint blue glow, followed by a series of clicking sounds as dozens of bolts, cocks, bars and more minor locks unravelled themselves. Leaning against the door, which opened incredibly slowly, Picquery, Mr. Oates and Miss Goldstein entered a smaller section, where a group of Aurors patrolled. They spun around upon seeing the small group, before they nodded and relaxed again. At the other side of the section was yet another door, similar to the one through which the group had come.

They had to repeat this tiring process of reopening a door like this four more times, before they finally came into a new area. In every section where either Aurors positioned or charms so powerful they had to turn them off, if they did not want to be vaporized. However finally they reached what they had come for. The four or five high security cells of MACUSA. They were all lieing next to each other. A massive square for each and every prisoner. Aside from the iron bars every cell had, these cells also were equipped with a massive, magical shield and dozens of charms to prevent any possible escape.

Picquery brushed over her dress collar for a second, before she lifted her head and strode downstairs, reaching the cell in the middle of the room, which held Grindelwald. He was sitting on the small bench which served as his bed. The short, spiky, pale blond hair was uncombed and unwashed. His thin eyebrows knitted, and his eyes were closed. The prisoner cloak hang around him, and he looked like he had not eaten much. Around his feet was a chain.

Grindelwald rose his head, when Picquery stopped before him. His mismatched eyes lit up in disdain. One black and one blue. He carefully folded his hands together. His back straightened, and with a haughty look he smiled at her. From the way he held himself, it looked like he was not a prisoner at all. It made Picquery’s stomach turn in rage.

The President responded his arrogance with all the hatred and rage she could muster. She was here for a clear reason. Sometimes the fact that there were politics in place really was a burden. For right now all Picquery wanted was to sentence this man to dead. Let him walk into the Black Void, which would ate him up. Miss Goldstein had told her how Grindelwald had sentenced her and Mr. Scamander to death without consulting anybody.

While this was nothing new to Seraphina, she was still enraged. She knew Graves! Percival may too sentence people to death, however he never ever abused this power. He never let innocent people face the Black Void. The fact that Grindelwald valued life so little, and had almost let one of her own Aurors (well, ex-Aurors during this time) die, made Picquery hate him even more.

Picquery took a deep breath and forced her hatred as deep down her guts as she could possibly muster. Her voice was strict and clear as she spoke: “Mr. Grindelwald, my Aurors have told me that you have not answered any of their questions. You have to understand that your refusal to cooperate can have dire consequences for you.” He stared at her, not bothering to give a reply. His eyes seemed to peer into her soul and the look clearly laughed at her. Laughed at her fruitless efforts to gain information. Laughed at the entire world for not being one step closer to their end goal. Laughed at their incompetence, complexity and foolishness.

Had he no idea what actually awaited him? Was he so blind and unaware of his own bad fortune? Of how unlucky his position was? Picquery tried it yet again: “You are already in a very bad position and when the other delegates arrive, your sentence will be done within probably a few days. If you wish to have any chance to get out of this alive and merely have a prison sentence, you have to cooperate.”

The urgency and sharpness in her voice did not seem to have the desired effect. Gellert did not change in any way or position. How could one man keep it up to sit there, glaring at her and not saying a word? He had held such an impressive speech in the underground. Where was that fire now? Why was he not lashing out at her?

Picquery decided to change the subject. There was one question she had to ask. One question that burned in her guts. “Your silence won’t do you anything good here. It won’t get me anywhere nor you.” The President slowly shook her head, before she stated: “At least tell me what has happened with my Director of Magical Security! Where is Percival Graves?”

She was not sure what she had been expecting. Maybe an answer. Even if it were the conformation that Graves was indeed dead. Maybe even a sneer or a laugh as the other one would mock her for her clear attachment. But it was nothing compared to what Grindelwald did. He remained silent and forced his face to relax. And in his mismatched eyes Picquery saw her own desperation and worry, reflected back upon her.

_ Look at you _ , those eyes said,  _ You are claiming to be a leader, but you are not able to handle a single threat. You are lost without Graves at your side. You cannot defend your nation. You cannot handle my danger. You could not even handle a tiny Obscurus, ravaging through New York. What are you protecting? Not your wizarding community. You protect your pride. _

Seraphina’s eyes barely widened. She felt like her heart skipped a beat. No one knew that this was her worst fear and sin. No, no! She was imagining things. Grindelwald could not read her like that! It was impossible. She had build her persona too much to crack now. And she would not give him the satisfaction that he had shaken her by doing nothing. He was her prisoner! She had to remember that. She was the President, she was the one that had him behind bars, she was the one in control.

Her voice now did not hide her disdain and hatred as she snarled: “Fine. If this is your only reaction to this, I shall take it as your last word. I won’t consult you any longer in what happens with you, Mr. Grindelwald. Just know that the chance that you will be sentenced to death has risen drastically. But then we all know that you most certainly deserve it, you monster.”

Picquery spun around on her heels and marched towards the door. Tina and Mr. Oates followed. They had remained oddly quiet during the entire conversation. “I should have expected that”, growled Seraphina as the first door began to shut behind them, “Old school. Nothing will be told.”

Gellert Grindelwald was still sitting on the bench in his cell. He slowly leaned back and his shoulder blades touched the wall. One of his hands slowly wandered over the smooth stone, and as his fingers graced a shadow, an odd twitch laid in the darkness. But maybe that was just a trick of the light. Grindelwald smiled.


	2. The Convict in the Graveyard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone.   
> Finally after a week, I can present to you chapter two. I hope, you will enjoy it. A big than you to those who left kudos. It really means a lot to me. If you liked this chapter, a comment or a kudo would make me happy.   
> The convict's words in german are translated at the end of the chapter.  
> Lots of love, Ebony Danger

It had been thundering during the night, and Modesty had not been able to close her eyes. She had always disliked thunder, even as a child. But now it had become even worse. The loud, bellowing sound had become linked to something new. Something frightening, monstrous and sad. The sound of a wall, crashing down. Crashing on everything she had known as her life. And with it the exchange, which had broken the last strands she had left of it.  _ “You can control it, Credence.” “I do not think I want to, Mr. Graves.” _

It. Modesty knew what it was. She was certain it also had a name, but she decided that it was best to leave it nameless. For why should it be given a name? It was faceless, black and dark. It deformed Credence and plagued him. Modesty had felt its presence from the moment she had been adopted into the Barebone family. She may have never seen it herself until recently, but she had felt it like a dark shadow on her skin. Together with Credence’s agony and misery. With his sadness and loneliness.

She had tried to be there for him. Protect him from the Ma and the thing inside of him. The Ma, because she was a strict and cruel woman, and she seemed to hate Credence for a reason Modesty did not understand until recently. Had Ma known of the black thing inside Credence? No, that was unlikely. Otherwise it would not have been able to take her by surprise like it had done.

Modesty had known that Ma beat up Credence. She had seen the crusty streams and gashes on his hands. She had known that when he was leaning to one side or disburden his shoulder and hips that the other side was hurting him. She had felt his pain like a bruise on her skin. Whenever the night had settled after a beating, Modesty would sneak up to Credence and calm him. Hug him and bring him small gifts like the flat biscuits, they were not supposed to eat. She used to wash his wounds with water. She’d offer that she would take the blame on occasions, but Credence always refused. He said, he had to protect her and he rather took Ma’s rage then let her face it. Modesty never admitted it, but she often felt like she was protecting Credence, not the other way around.

The streets were wet the rain. Poodles on the cobblestone. Modesty skipped and jumped through them, not caring if her clothes got wet. She only had one pair anyway. She did not have the resources or time to wash them. And so far her primary focus laid on making it through the day. Just one incidence. It had made her an homeless orphan, who had to mature up in the span of three weeks. New York’s streets were difficult for a ten year old girl with no one to look after her. However Modesty had managed to handle herself. She had found a shelter, and she managed to get herself some food. Usually by begging. Sometimes when this did not work, Modesty offered her working force. Cleaning and swooping. Helping to buy groceries. People were willing to give some money to the poor sod with her ash blond hair.

Right now however the dawn was settling in. Night dragged thin, mist-like clouds over the sky, and in the streets the lamps lit up. Golden eyes in a muddy world of grey, brown and black. Where woman sat in house entrances, and crippled beggars slept in the subway. But the street Modesty followed was deserted. Only a crow sat in the branches of a nearby tree, croaking its sad song into the air. Moving to a desolated and quiet part of New York, the youngest of the Barebone children finally reached her destination.

The stones shone in the moonlight like hardened silver, bronze and copper. Wooden crosses threw shadows, and the air smelled of lavender and other flowers people had placed on the graves. Modesty hopped over the small wall, which separated the graveyard from the town. She walked over the sandy paths until she had found the grave she had been looking for.

It was not the Ma’s grave nor was it Chastity’s. They both had been killed by the dark thing inside of Credence, and Modesty had not learned where they were buried. Nor had she bothered too. As much as she missed her sister, she did not want to learn where the woman laid she had come to fear.

This grave was a small one. The stone was stiff and grey. It had a name graved into it: Tamara Samantha Montgomery. The grave had overgrown again as usual. Modesty grabbed the small, thorny vines and pulled them away. After she had cleaned the grave of the weed, Modesty knelt down before it. She searched through the pockets of her small dress and carefully pulled out a little, slightly smashed and crumbled daisy. The blonde girl softly laid the flower and arranged it on the grave.

“I know I have not been here for a long time”, Modesty whispered, “So, so much happened.” Her small hand reached forwards, trembling. “I miss not just you, but the others as well. But I especially miss you.” Tamara had been one of her older sisters. Being born into a family of twelve children did not make things easy. Food was rare, and Mom and Dad struggled to supply her and the others. Modesty had always been an incredibly meek and weak child, pale and sickly.

During one extremely hard month, Tamara could no longer bear to see her sister suffer so much because her portion of food was so small. She began to give Modesty her part of the share. With Tamara’s help, Modesty made it through the coldest and hardest month of winter. However her brave and generous sister died from the willing starvation and the cold. Modesty had been three. It was only a few months after this that Mary Lou had adopted her for her parents knew they could not take care of the large family. Now they had only ten children to worry about. Maybe even less. Who knew?

Modesty once again reached into her pocket and pulled out two pieces of wood. The wand, Credence had found under her bed. It was snapped in half. Dark brown wood with a nicely decorated handle and the letters TMS engraved upon it. “Ma broke it”, Modesty whispered and carefully placed the wand pieces on the grave. “It was more then a toy, wasn’t it?” She swallowed a sob and rubbed over her eyes with her sleeve. “I am so sorry.”

Modesty carefully got to her feet. A cool breeze had come up and rustled in the branches of the trees. The young girl wrapped her slender arms around herself, shivering in the cold. However as Modesty turned around to head back, her gaze fell on a figure between the graves, and she started to scream.

It was a fearsome man with a pair of chains around his feet. He towered over Modesty, shoulders broad. His short, paleblond hair was uncombed. He was wearing a simple greyish shirt with darker stripes. His eyes looked odd: One was black, the other one was blue. Modesty took all this in within a few seconds, and the sudden appearance scared the life out of her. There was an air of danger and trouble around the man, and it installed great fright inside her.

Hearing her scream, the convict rushed forwards and seized her by the shoulders, picking her up. His face was only inches away from her and he pressed a hand on her mouth. His voice was a quiet, intimidating hush, yet it could have also been a snarl; the effect would have been the same.  “ Keep your voice down or I’ll rip your throat out!”

Modesty’s heart raced in her chest and she stammered: “ Yes, Sir.” The man’s hands were tight around her shoulders and he shook her viciously. His closeness scared her. Despite him looking like he was half starved and with the chains around his feet, Modesty had no reason to doubt that this man could kill her in seconds.

“What is your name?”, rasped the convict and shook her again. “Tell me, quickly, girl!” Her teeth shook in her mouth as she stammered out: “Modesty Barebone, Sir.” It did not seem to satisfy him for the man asked: “Where do you live? Point to the place.”

“There, Sir.” Modesty, with some effort, freed her one arm and vaguely indicated in the direction of where she had come from. A narrow, little street of cobblestone., leading to a gloomy, small house. The convict turned his head at the pointed direction and squinted his eyes as if he wanted to mesmerize where the girl was living.

A yelp escaped Modesty as the convict suddenly turned her upside down. The whole world did a spinning turn as the man seized her by the ankles. He kept shaking her roughly. Modesty yelped and took a hold of the chains to avoid hitting her head. “Ouch, Sir. Please...you are hurting me”, she whined. The convict did not seem to care. He kept shaking her until with a low thud the small crust of bread, she had stolen, fell out of her pockets.

The convict slowly turned Modesty around again and placed her back on her feet. The girl was dizzy and not feeling really well. Anxiously, she watched the convict bend down, scoop up the bread and hungrily eat it. His mismatched eyes kept staring at the little girl, and Modesty felt watched as bad as the prying gaze of Mary Lou.

“Now, where is your mother?”, asked the convict between two more bites. Modesty explained shyly and slowly: “Not here. She...she is dead. Just like Chastity.” Her voice became low at the name of her older sister. As sad as it was to her sister be indoctrinated, she still was her sister, and Modesty loved her greatly. She, Chastity and Credence had been a very tight group of siblings, looking after each other. It was not like living in a group of eleven but it came damn close to it.

“So you are alone?”, the convict concluded. “Yes, Sir.” Modesty nodded and moistened her lips. The man was still holding her by the collar and the fabric cut into her skin. Her feet hang in the air and she tried to avoid moving at all. The position she was in was less then comfortable.

The convict blew a raspberry. “ Ah, bummer”, he remarked, and Modesty was shocked by his carelessness. The bible preached that people should feel empathy, yet this man seemed to have none of that. His mismatched eyes locked with the young girl again and he asked another question: “Well, who do you live with? Supposing that someone is kind enough to let you live with them? Which I have not yet decided.”

The threat made against her life hung over her like a rainy cloud. Modesty gulped. She tried to rub over her sore throat, however the convict gave her a rough shake and a snarl. Hastily the girl confessed: “ I am living at the local blacksmith’s house, Sir. However he does not know I live there.”

“Blacksmith, hmm?” The convict picked Modesty up again and placed her on the edge of the grave. He forcefully leaned her back. Modesty yelped and clung to his wrists for dear life “You know what a file is?”, the convict asked. “Yes, Sir.”, replied Modesty. “You know where to get me food?”, the blonde man continued. “Yes, Sir.” Modesty nodded hastily.

The convict tilted Modesty even more backwards. Her backside almost slipped of the gravestone, and the girl shrieked again. His face was only inches away from hers, and his voice dropped into a quiet whisper: “ Then listen closely, girl: You get me a file and you get me food or I am find you and I am gonna do something to you, you will be haunted with for the rest of your life. I can conjure up things your mind cannot comprehend. I can shatter your sanity with the snap of my fingers.”

Witchcraft. There was only one thing this man could be talking about. He was a wizard. And Modesty would not take the threads lightly. Everything in this man left a chill on her skin like a dark shadow. Her guts twisted. Something was dangerous about the situation. And right now Modesty worried more for her head then anything else. Dear God, if he dropped her… “ Please, Sir, do not hurt me. I’ll...I’ll do what you ask.”

“You better stick to your word child. Bring me the food and file to the graveyard tomorrow”, the convict commanded, “There is a group of people after me, and compared to them, I am an angel. They will kill a child like you. You do not want me to alert them about your presence, girl. Repeat after me: So god be my witness. I will do what I am asked .”

The words left her lips in a croak and a hoarse squeak: “ So god be my witness, I..will do what I...am asked.” The man seized her again and slowly placed her down from the gravestone. Letting go of her, he gave her one last lingering, scolding look and grunted:  “ Now off you go.” And Modesty ran like a huntsman, followed by the devil on her heels.

Modesty’s entrance into the blacksmith’s house was through a small, half broken window, which was always half open. The slit was just large enough to allow a ten year old girl to squeeze herself through it. From there Modesty entered a small storage space, where the blacksmith kept old clothing and his old working tools. It was hidden half behind an oven and thus he hardly ever checked in the place. Despite the disgusting warmth and the smell of ash, Modesty had managed to sleep here for several days.

She now sat on the pile of clothes and stared at the old items, hanging from hooks on the wall. Chin in her palms, her vision swam as her eyes focussed on the file. The convict wanted this item. And some food. Could Modesty really do that? Now that she was out of danger, her mind started to think. The feeling in her guts did not want to leave. It made her anxious and nervous.

Something was wrong about that man. Modesty could not say what it was, but his aggression alone was reason for her to be scared.  _ Whom are you kidding, Modesty? Admit it: You are afraid. You are scared. You feared you would wet your pants when this convict picked you up. _ The conversation had probably only been a few minutes long, but for Modesty it had been one of the worst moments of her life. She had not suspected that something could scare her more then this black thing Credence had turned into. However this convict came very close to that.

What was she supposed to do? Should she go to the police? But then who would believe her? She had no prove of the convict’s existence. And who would take a ten year old girl seriously? Alone and dirty. Moreover, what if they arrested her? Took her into an orphanage? She might as well hand herself in. And who was not to say that the convict would not defend himself? Her guts told Modesty that he was more then he seemed.

In fact aside from looking horrendous, he had looked pretty starved and miserable. As if he had gone through hell. As if he had nothing eaten in days. Modesty could not help but feel a bang of pity in her chest, and it shocked her. She could not feel like that. Or could she? The bible said, you should help people that were in need. Even when they were criminals. Sure, Ma’s teaching had been strict and twisted, but in it’s core faith was something good, wasn’t it? Then what was she supposed to follow? Her guts or her belief. Modesty’s eyes lingered over the file. Her choice was made.

The next morning Modesty returned back to the graveyard. Walking over the small path towards her sister’s grave, she was carrying a covered basket in her hand. Clutching it to her chest like a teddy bear, Modesty nervously gazed around. The sun was slowly creeping over the horizon. Dawn spilled blood over a milky grey sea. The dizzy light should have evoked the feeling of hope, but all Modesty could feel was a cold dread.

She slowly kept turning around as she stopped by the grave. The place felt isolated and alone. Almost abandoned. As Modesty turned around one more time, the convict appeared next to her sister’s grave as if he had grown out of the earth. The move had been so sudden that once again a frightened sound escaped the girl’s lips. However before it could become an actual scream, it died down as an embarrassing, high-pitched shrieking.

The convict slowly approached Modesty. Stopping before her, he leaned forwards, towering over her timid frame.  “Did you bring me what I asked for?”,  he asked.  “Yes, Sir.”  The blonde girl reached into her basket and pulled out a large and sharp looking file. Her hand trembled as she offered it the convict.

“Thanks.” With a grunt he took the file and started his work. Placing the edge of his boot on the gravestone, he leaned forwards and started to let the file go over the links of the chain. The scratching noise filled the air. Dry, harsh and sharp like two knifes, bracing each other. The convict leaned there, face concentrated and kept working on the chain.

Modesty watched him in silence. The sound hurt her ear. Tilting her head in confusion as if in hesitation, she quietly voiced the question that had been on her head the entire time:  “ Sir, you are a wizard, right? Why are you not using magic to break the chains?”  The blonde man looked up and glowered at her. For a brief moment Modesty feared the man would snarl at her and call her a freak. She was used to this reaction for it was the reaction Mary Lou usually had gotten from her preaches.

“Because there is a charm on the chains, that will go off if I try to undo them by magic”, explained the convict, “I would tell all of MACUSA where I am.” MACUSA? What a weird name that was! Modesty had never heard it. Watching the convict who kept sawing at the chains, she tried to see any hint that the chains were enchanted. However they looked like ordinary chains to her. The sparks, caused by the file, were the same as sparks from any other metal instrument.

“Could it not be that the chains are also protected so the file won’t work?”, asked Modesty and nodded at the chains. A huff of disdain or maybe exhaustion from the convict’s side. He carefully ran a hand through his spiky hair. “I doubt that”, he confessed, “These bigots and hypocrites of MACUSA cannot think out of the box. That or they are just simply stupid.” With a low clonk the chain finally ripped in two. The convict carefully pulled his feet free form it, tossing it aside. “Thanks. You already did me a great service with that, child.” 

The man looked very relieved, now that he no longer wore the chains. He groaned and slowly stretched his legs, letting his feet spin around one by one. It seemed as if he had to get a feel for not having the hard iron around his ankles any longer. The convict massaged his feet and smiled. He then turned to Modesty again.  “Now, what did you brought me for food?”

Modesty pulled off the blanket from her basket, revealing the content. “A bread and a can of soup. It is cold I am afraid”, she confessed. The convict waved his hand dismissively. “Das ist egal.” His mothertongue sounded odd. Modesty had never heard German before. It was clearer and louder then her American tongue and his pronunciation seemed crisp. 

The convict took the bread and the can with beans. Weighting them in his hand, he blinked in disbelief, almost as if the girl had gone beyond the call of duty. “Are you sure your name is Modesty? Because you should have been called generosity.”  His voice sounded gentler for the first time.  “ Thank you, Sir.”  The usually stoic expression on her face softened just a bit.

Sitting down before the man on the dirty ground, she watched him drop to the ground as well and start to eat. He was now probably using his magic for he merely cracked the can open without any help. Dipping the bread inside it, he swooped up a few beans and greedily started to eat them. Parts of Modesty told her that she could theoretically leave now, but she was uncertain. The mismatched gaze rooted her to the spot.

The convict slowly placed his arms on his knees and asked: “Now, what is a child like you doing on a graveyard anyway?” “I was visiting my sister’s grave”, replied Modesty quietly. He rose a brow. “The Chastity one?” The blonde girl shook her head. “No. My sister by birth. That wand was hers.” Modesty indicated towards the gravestone next to them.

The convict turned his head to look at the grave. He mused to himself: “So you are a witch as well. Though it seems you cannot recall it.” He slowly turned back to look at her. The blond man blinked and furrowed his brows in concern. “Why do you make such a sad face?”

“Was Credence a wizard too?”, asked Modesty. The conversation had made her remember the darkness in Credence, the feeling of abnormality, of something beyond her world. Of something...magical. Despite its so destructive nature. The convict slowly nodded. “I believe he was.”

Tears filled her eyes. Modesty began to sniff and buried her face in her hands. The convict called hastily: “Don’t cry. It is not like you think.” He bent down and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. Softly plucking his hands from her face, he cupped her cheeks. His voice dropped into a whisper: “Credence is alive.”

Modesty could not believe what she was hearing. Staring at the convict, she stammered: “Alive? How can you know? That darkness...”

“I have ways of knowing, trust me.” He gave her a cheeky smile and softly tipped his finger against his forehead. “I can see with the eyes of others, Modesty. And since you helped me to be free, I want to return your favour. Your generosity won’t go unrewarded. I will help you find your brother.”

“R-really?” This was too good to be true.

“Yes.” The convict rose as if he meant to leave again. Modesty scampered to her feet and called: “Wait a moment, Sir! You may know my name, but I never heard yours. What is your name, Sir?” The blond man slowly turned his head back to look at her. His mismatched eyes glittered, and with a slow smile he revealed his white teeth. His voice dropped into a husky whisper as he introduced himself.

“You may call me Gellert Grindelwald.”


	3. I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Finally after a longer break, here is chapter three. I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Comments and kudos are appreciated as usual.  
> Yours sincerly,  
> Miss T

The waves softly rocked the ship from side to side as it made its way towards New York’s harbour. The sun was slowly rising from the horizon, casting a wave of orange blood upon the sky. It framed the Stature of Liberty, whose cyan eyes rested upon the ship’s passengers. Most of them stood in groups and quietly talked with each other.

However one man was slightly sitting aside on the bench, his arms placed on his leather case. He was in his forties and had deep red hair with hints of brown in it. His hair was long and around his lips curled a dark beard, perfectly combed and trimmed. Blue eyes glimmered thoughtfully over a nose, which seemed to have been broken twice in the middle. The man wore a dark vest over a white shirt and black trousers.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore was staring ahead at the harbour, which quickly advanced. He could hear titbits of the conversations going on, however he did not feel in the mood to participate in the discourse going on. They all were talking about how finally Gellert Grindelwald would be put to justice. How the terror was finally over. And how they would all celebrate.

Albus did not trust the peace. He knew Gellert Grindelwald better then most people, and his past had thaught him one thing. Never ever take something for granted. If you believed you knew what was going on, it was probably the other way around. Fate could take sudden and unexpected turns, for better or for worse. Thus Albus did not see any reason to rejoice just yet: Gellert Grindelwald was not the person to just be put on trail. No, the dark wizard would probably pull as many people into death as he could before he disappeared without the trace.

Albus, in fact, had not want to come at all. He had told it his assistance, Minerva McGonnagall, a young Gryffindor student, who was very promising in the field of transfiguration: “I do not see any reason to celebrate.” He had not explained what he meant with this, and he surely would not do so. But his view was set. This celebration was out of place and wrong. They were putting Grindelwald out like a monster in a cage to salivate over. Had they all gone to the dogs? Had they all become mad? Albus cringed inwardly as he remembered himself of the reason he was supposed to come. Being the guest of honour meant he had to come. He did not see any reason to deserve such a title.

The ship halted, and Albus and the others got off. Hurrying towards the pass control, his luggage safely in his hands, Albus was halted by a Muggle in simple, blue uniform. “One moment please”, he requested. The Professor of Transfiguration sighed and halted. “Is there a problem, Sir?”, he asked politely. As the man checked his pass, he inquired: “What’s in your case, Mister...Dumdore?” He seemed to be uncertain on how to pronounce Albus’ last name.

“Ehm, socks”, replied Albus. 

The pass inspector gave the redhaired man a look, which clearly showed that he doubted that. “Socks?”, he repeated.

“Yes. Socks and other clothing.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

Albus sighed and carefully placed his luggage on the table before him. “One moment please.” The case was in a similar way designed like Newt Scamander’s: Thus the Professor carefully turned around a small switch to  _ Muggle Inventor _ _ y _ , before he handed the case to the inspector. The man flipped the lid back and revealed the inside of the case: Clothes and many, many layers of socks.

The inspector rose a brow and carefully lifted a few socks to check if something was underneath them. He then closed the lid again and handed the case back to Albus, together with his pass. “Welcome to America, Mister Dumdore.” “Thanks you”, replied Albus politely and took his case, heading off. Before he did so, he added: “Also, Sir, my name is pronounced Dumb-le-dore, not Dum-dore.”

Albus left the harbour and made his way through New York City. According to his invitation, the party he was to attend would be held in one of the grand halls in MACUSA’s main building. The fact that the Magical Congress had decided to held a ball was rather rare. It was also surprising that it was to be held in the main building. Of course it was to be expected that MACUSA had some sort of rooms for special locations like this, but still it happened rarely that delegates from other countries were invited to be there.

But then this case was indeed a special and rather grim one. Gellert Grindelwald had been terrorizing many, many countries, especially in Europe. He had left Great Britain out of his reign of terror, thank god, but many, many people had suffered under him. And they all wanted justice. Albus knew the chance was very high that his former friend would end up being killed. While he knew it was the right thing to do, he could not help but feel uncomfortable about it.

Reaching the Woolworth Building, Albus looked around suspiciously, before he drew out his wand and transfigured his clothes. The vest turned into a long, deep purple robe. His white shirt became a pale shade of pink. Stars and moons covered the fabric, and to top all this off, he was wearing a purple hat with long, yellow strands. Comfortable in his extravagant outfit, Albus grabbed his case again and quietly whistling to himself, entered the main entrance hall of MACUSA.

It was wider and fairer then the Ministry of Magic. There was a large clock in the centre of the ceiling with green, red and orange patches, saying words like  _ Love, Peace and Harmony _ ,  _ Trouble _ ,  _ Big Danger _ and  _ Emergency _ . The colour gold predominated everything. Golden framed windows, through which sunlight bathed the entire room.  A large, towerlike constellation at the end of the room contained several rooms. Lifts in corners of the rooms. MACUSA workers walked around. The place buzzed with life. 

Albus walked into the middle of the room, still whistling the last notes of his song. His appearance and his little melody made people turn their heads. They pointed at him and began to whisper. Upon recognising who he was, people gathered around him, and before Albus even knew what had happened he was surrounded by a thick crowd.

Inwardly Albus sighed. He had gotten a reputation as an excellent wizard for discovering the Twelve Usages of Dragon Blood and being one of the best transfiguration professors Hogwarts ever had. And thus people of course wanted to speak with him.

Albus simply was still not used to all the attention. He had always been a solitary man, a scholar. A person, who studied and avoided contact with other people. However that did not mean he did not know how to communicate. After that fateful summer 1899 he had entered his new profession, and it had forced him to talk with many, many people. Albus soon had developed good communication skills and had taken one of his most important lessons first: Live in the moment. Celebrate and enjoy each moment you have. It was a protective mechanism. For Albus knew if he dwelled on the past or future too much, he would go insane. Gellert Grindelwald was following him like a demon or a rainy cloud, and if Albus did not want to be affected by it, he had to act like it was not there.

But of course he was affected. More then he wished to admit. Before others and most of all before himself. Albus had to pretend that he was worried for the safety of the Wizarding Community (which he of course was) and that Grindelwald was a terrorist that had to be stopped at all costs. But for Albus, Gellert was more. So much more. And such a large cause for pain.

As Albus was surrounded by all the MACUSA workers, he restrained himself and spoke politely and calmly. Listened to the dozens of questions, answered those he could and showed the needed respect. Albus could hardly take any step forwards. It was still something new for him. To be so surrounded by a crowd, to be so admired and looked upon.

Before the situation could get even more uncomfortable, there was a fair voice calling “Excuse me. May I get through? Beg you pardon?” Pushing her way through the mass of people, Albus was greeted by a small woman with a meek appearance, darkbrown hair and dark eyes. Her long, pale blue cloak almost hid her entire frame. “Professor Dumbledore, I presume?”, the woman asked politely, “Porpentina Goldstein. Madam President requested me to bring you to the main hall, where she will held her speech. Would you follow me please?”

Albus smiled politely and grabbed his case again. “Of course, Miss Goldstein.” Porpentina turned around and hurried through the group again, muttering excuses and stating that they had to get through. Albus followed calmly and too gave some quiet apologies. The other officials stepped aside, and both, Auror and guest, reached the hall, which already was filled with guests.

The hall was a large place with several seats upon the walls in a row like a theatre stage. On the opposite side Albus could spot a speaking plattform, which was a bit higher then the other chairs. It was made of oak wood and behind it hang a large, satin tapestry, showing the emblem of MACUSA: A stylised eagle, which incorporated the American flag. The floor was of polished, grey stone with a star engraved upon it.

Now however the stages were all full of people, and Porpentina lead Albus to a seat near the plattform. The redhaired wizard carefully sat down and placed his case behind his legs. “Thank you, Miss Goldstein”, he said, and as she turned around to leave, he added: “May I inquire: Has Grindelwald said anything since he has been arrested?” Tina’s brown eyes locked with his blue. “No”, was her reply, “He has remained as silent as a brick, refusing to cooperate.” She then hurried out of the longue and took her place by the other Aurors.

Albus was not sure if he should be grateful for this. It seemed that Gellert had not told anything suspicious. However before he could dwell deeper on that, a meek looking man with an oddly obedient and prideful demeanour announced: “Ladies and Gentleman, Madam President at your attention.” He stepped aside, and Seraphina Picquery, wearing her make-up perfectly and the dark, glittering dress, appeared at the podest.

Seraphina brushed over her own dress for a brief moment, before her stance steeled. Her head was held high, the voice without the fairest tremble or hints of doubt: “Ladies and Gentlemen. First of all I want to thank all of you for having taken the long travel towards America. In regards of the past events, I am certain we all wish to have this sorted out as soon as possible. Currently Gellert Grindelwald is in the most secluded and best high security cell MACUSA has to offer. We have already begun to interrogate him, and our results should be incoming soon enough. Our team is made of the best men and women in America, and Grindelwald will not be able to hide anything from us. We will make sure that his crimes won’t go unpunished. I also informed Mister Grindelwald that if he refuses to cooperate with us, we won’t consult him regarding his fate. Thus I believe we can all agree that this man must be sentenced to death for his crimes. No punishment is less fitting then this.”

The people applauded. Albus felt a knot in his stomach. It was sickening. This entire affair was painstaking for him. He knew he should hate Gellert Grindelwald for he had every reason to. This man had thorn his family apart. His brother had become a stranger. His sister was dead. Albus should feel hatred, bitter hatred, and be ready to stop Grindelwald as much as everyone else did. And while he agreed with the fact that the other one had to be stopped, the way the other people spoke made him ill.

Seraphina turned around from the plattform and marched downstairs, having finished her speech. As she walked to her own seat, the Auror besides Tina rose and quietly addressed her: “Ehm, Madam President, that speech...” Her voice was bitter as Picquery remarked: “Don’t even say it, Mister Oates. I know my speech was terrible.”

The party was held in a glamorous style. The hall, reserved for it, was large and grand. Chandeliers, hanging from the ceiling, bathed everything in golden light. The parquet floor was positively glowing, and everyone seemed to throw a pale, quivering reflection upon it. On a table, covered in white satin, stood a buffet fit for high society: Bowls with fruits, cakes and tarts, glasses, bottles of sparkling wine, champagne, red and white wine. The guests had changed their clothing upon entering the hall. The suits had become more elegant, the ties nicely knotted, hairs combed and brushed. The ladies had added rings and necklaces to their dresses.

The delegates and the members of MACUSA were all scattered in small groups in the hall. Drinking and eating cream tarts, they talked with each other. Albus, still wearing his deep purple satin robes, slowly walked through the place, a glass of champagne in his hand and not really sure on what to do. It was not that he disliked parties; he did like them in fact. However here in this high society, he felt strangely out of place. For in his ears, it felt like they were all talking about the same thing.

Even now the topic Grindelwald did not leave him alone. His name resounded throughout the land. The delegates in parts mocked Picquery’s clear failure with not noticing the change in her former Director of Magical Security, to which Albus always replied that it was not her fault. The branch of transfiguration in this regard was complex and very hard to decipher. Grindelwald could have fooled anybody in his eyes.

Albus also remarked that people should give Picquery a break. She had handled the fiasco in New York as it had been named quite well. Only one person had died luckily, and the President had, with Newt’s help, managed to erase an entire town’s memory, while catching Grindelwald. This was quite a feed. He however did not comment on the fact that they had not yet learned anything from Grindelwald. Albus was sure, Miss Goldstein appreciated if he did not share this knowledge.

There was a move by the large,  marble staircase, which lead onto the parquet. Looking up, Albus almost dropped his glass of red whine. His cheeks flushed, and his breath caught in his throat. Raising a hand to his lips, the Professor watched the newest guest slowly walk down the stairs to join the festival. Albus could not tear his eyes away from him.  _ Could it be...could it be that you have come back to life? _

The man was younger then most guests here. He seemed to be in his early twenties. The pointy, fair face was framed by long, golden locks, which were combed back. He was wearing a darkblue, almost black suit with a crimson tie and dark trousers. Pointy black shoes carried him in quick steps towards the first group of guests. His hands stuck in snow-white, satin gloves. Stopping by the delegates of Hungary, Poland and France, he began to speak with them in a polite and humble manner. He was gesturing with his hands, slowly and smoothly like an artist, drawing a beautiful piece of work. The delegates laughed and expressed delight that he had appeared, welcoming him in their middle, drawn in by his charm.

All the while Albus stood there, rooted to the spot. He kept his gaze rested upon the newcomer, watching his every move. It was not just the face, which had drawn him in. It were the eyes, which had been buried deep inside his memories. Those mismatched orbs you could never forget once you saw them. One as fair blue as the sky in winter, the other one like a drop of ink. Albus had seen many things in those eyes. Knew of the fury and passion they held. Knew of the compassion and care they so rarely showed. Knew of the tenderness and love, which disappeared in a flash, hence you missed them.

_ I know those eyes. I know that face. _ Albus tried to shake his head in disbelief. It could not be! He could not be here! But that face and those eyes… They were a part of his most fondest and most painful memories. Albus had to be dreaming. He had to be sure. This was impossible. The redhaired Professor hurried to the doorkeeper. He asked: “Sir, you have a list of the guests, haven’t you?”

“That is correct, Professor Dumbledore”, the man replied with a nod.

“And you check everybody that comes in here, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

Albus quickly let his gaze wander around to check if the newcomer was still there. He then indicated in the direction of the locks and inquired: “Could you tell me who the young gentleman is that talks with the delegates of Hungary, Poland and France? The one with the golden hair?” The doorkeeper followed the professor’s gaze. He then responded:“That’s Mister Grimmwood, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Mister Grimmwood?” Albus rose a brow in confusion. He had never heard that name. As if the doorkeeper had read his mind, he explained: “Gabriel Grimmwood is the man-of-business of Count Van Eurpheit. A charming, young man. And so humble. He is a joy to be around.”

“Count Van Eurpheit?”

“A rich noble from the southern parts of England. Pureblood wizard and of the finest status, Professor. He is a very generous man, who apparently donates to many Wizarding Communities, not just yours in England. Poor fellow is having an illness, which makes travelling a nightmare for him. Thus his man-of-business is always there to represent him.”

Albus slowly emptied his glass in one go. The wine was rich and deep and numbed the senses of his tongue, however he ignored that. Expressing his thanks for the information towards the doorkeeper, Albus placed the glass on the table and slowly walked over the parquet again. He did not approach this Grimmwood at once. Instead he stood near a column and stared at the man with squinted eyes.

It felt so weird. As much as his face seemed unchanged, Albus still could see a certain  alteration in it. It looked sharper now, the cheekbones were more prominent. His eyes were still so very familiar but there was a stranger living in them now. The stranger with the face of his most trusted friend, of his lover. Gellert Grindelwald. He was here, among all these delegates and government officials, and  _ nobody _ noticed it!

How was this possible?  _ What are you thinking, Albus? Nobody knows his face. Only you do. _ It was so incredibly painful. To see his former friend this close and knowing that he was miles away. His mouth was full of words he had never been able to speak. What was he supposed to do? 

He watched Gellert cross the room to speak with another group of people. For a short moment their eyes seemed to meet, and Albus had to prevent two things at once: Blushing and flinching. The mismatched eyes were dull and heartless. Just what had happened? Gellert was no longer recognisable for him, and yet he recognised him at once.

“Sir, what are you doing there?”, asked one of the servants, who noticed that Albus had been standing rooted to the spot for what must have been several minutes. “Ehm”, Albus responded quickly, “I am looking for, eh, refreshments?” He pretended to look around hastily. The servant smiled and offered the Professor a silver tray with small, mushy, greybrown balls upon them. “Dragon balls, Sir?”

“Oh!”, called Albus in an exaggerated fashion and took five of the small balls, “These are my favourites!” The servant rose a brow. “You do realise that you are getting bad breath from this?”, he asked cautiously. Albus stuffed all five balls into his mouth and muttered quickly. “I don’t care.” He nommed fast and gave the man a forced smile. “Mmmmhh… See?”

The servant stared at Albus and blinked three times. “Yes, whatever”, he remarked and sauntered off with his tray. As soon as he was out of sight, the Professor swallowed harshly and almost gasped. The dragon balls had an incredible awful taste like mushed beans with way too much pepper and garlic.  _ Note to myself: Never ever eat these things again. _

In the meantime Gellert had managed to disappear to somewhere else. Albus quickly turned around on the spot, his blue eyes darting from face to face. He finally saw a blur of blond near the next balcony. Taking a deep breath, Albus began to push his way through the group. Carefully zickzacking around and appologising whenever he bumped against somebody by accident, Albus finally reached the balcony.

He halted and hesitated to step upon it. Gellert Grindelwald was standing with his back to him, gazing into the distance. His dark blond hair looked like gold in the gloomy glow of the place. Albus recalled the face he knew so well. It still felt all so weird and confusing. The questions were in his head as if he could not decide what to say or think first. Why are you here? How did you manage to get in here? Why are you avoiding me? Did you recognise me? Did anyone else recognise you? Do you even realise the danger you put yourself in?

Instead he said: “So you are pretending to be a servant now?” Albus carefully walked closer and stopped a few feet besides the other one. He could feel the mismatched eyes rest upon him without Gellert turning his head. His voice was as polite as he had been throughout the entire evening. Humble and gentle. So completely not like what people would associate with the voice of someone who was called the Darkest Wizard of the Century.

“Good evening, Albus. What are you doing here?” Gellert turned himself half around as he had finished his sentence. He slowly crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, eyeing Albus up and down. What did he see? Albus had aged for he had nothing to hide. His red hair had grown darker, he had a few wrinkles in his face and he had grown a beard. He had aged naturally. Not like Gellert, who had everything to hide, and thus he hide himself behind an aspect nobody knew any longer and a new name.

“I have been invited to this festival.” Albus tried to be as polite as possible. Drumming his fingers together, he added with a slow critical look: “I doubt you can say the same thing for you.” Gellert merely shrugged and rose his hands. “Oh, the Count does not need to be invited. He merely announces that he will come.” Where did he take this boldness and bluntness? It was something Albus would never understand.

The Professor shook his head. “Do you even realise what risk you are putting yourself into?”, he asked. Albus could not hide the worry in his voice or his eyes. Gellert’s presence did something to him, he did not understand. He tore down all the protective walls Albus had build around his heart. He spilled his emotions like ink and made him cry and yearn for something that could never be.

Gellert laughed. “What is life without a little risk? I do not care.” He turned his head towards the other guests, whose silhouette looked so small. The sound of the party was dulled down by the silence of the night outside. Gellert was smiling as he added: “Besides it is amusing to see how they are all so worried about what I am doing, and they do not realise I am here.”

His friend almost looked sinister. Albus inhaled sharply. His face eclipsed, and he barely rose his voice: “Gellert, this is not a game! Stop treating it as such. Do you even realise what you are doing? You are tearing families apart. You are murdering innocent people. This was not what we had envisioned.” His voice now had an almost pleading tone. “Please, stop this madness, I beg of you.”

Gellert slowly came closer. His face was serious, and he lowered his voice into a raspy whisper: “I have already gone too deep, Albus. There is no point in stopping now.” By now the blonde man stood only inches before his face. His eyes flared with rage and passion. “Moreover I know what you are hoping, but it is of no use. The man you seek is long gone! He has died that fateful night when we parted. I have changed. You must see that.”

Albus sighed. He stared at the other man. The stranger with the face of his friend. His voice was slow and hesitant as he spoke. _No, not hesitant, Albus. Defeated._ “I...see that. And it wounds me, Gellert.” There was one last question he could utter. However even as he voiced his threat, Albus had the feeling it was a meek and feeble one: “What makes you believe I am not going to tell the others you are here?”

Gellert squinted his eyes. He took a step back and his next words were spoken with an absolute certainty: “Because I know you, Albus. _You won’t betray me now, and you never will!_ That’s unless you wish to expose towards everyone what you are hiding under your sleeve.” He gave the other man a disdainful scuff, his eyes seemed to linger on his wrists, before he slowly sauntered away with the same elegance and grave of a panther. He walked with the calmness you could only have if you had no equal.

And Albus stood there and stared after the other one. His hands slowly massaged his wrists. Everything that he could have said tasted like ash in his mouth, and he felt even more defeated then before. For the very first time he had to admit to himself that he did not know Gellert. And a nasty voice could not help but whisper in his head: _Have you ever known him at all?_


	4. Graves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,  
> finally Percival Graves appears. This chapter is rather short. However I can assure you that the major conflict of the story will be set up in chapter five. So bear with this for now. As usual comments and kudos are appreciated.  
> Yours sincerly,  
> Miss T

The spider was spinning its net. It was slowly moving diagonally, pulling a long, silvery-white thread behind itself. It stopped at the end of its net and carefully attached the thread, forming another line. The net was located in a small corner of the room and it was laying in a way that Graves could very easily see it. He watched the thick, black, furry dot move around, doing its business. He could make out the blue eyes and the eight legs.

_ Wait a second. _ He could see clearly again. His body did a sudden violent shake and he began to cough and shudder like a man who had just been rescued drowning and now was gasping for air and spitting out as much water as he could. He was feeling cold and shocked. His mind and body had not really caught up with each other. All he knew for certain was that the incantation he was under had run out.

_ Breath, Graves, breath.  _ He rolled himself on his stomach and tried to focus on his breath instead of the feeling of dizziness, which still struck him badly. The curse Grindelwald had used to keep him in place was so simple and yet so incredibly brilliant. How do you prevent somebody from escaping? Render them uncapeable of doing anything. How do you achieve this? By making them sleep.

And this was exactly what Gellert Grindelwald had done. He had let Percival fall into a deep, deep slumber, dreamless and dark. However at the same time the Director of Magical Security had felt as if he was trapped underneath a pool of ice cold water, freezing and drowning. It had not been a nice feeling. And he had not been able to wake up. No matter how hard he tried.

Still the charm had not been without its flaws. It was powerful yes, but it was not a permanent cause. Of course not. Magic of this type was deemed to run out. And thus in a rhythm Graves still had not really been able to decipher, he would wake up, shuddering and gasping as if all the cold water had fallen off him. And after that he knew that Grindelwald would enter his room as if he had been summoned and after taunting him on his helplessness casted the same spell all over again.

Thus Graves was laying on the floor and awaited the heavy footsteps that would announce his dark mirror approaching him and sending him back into sleep. He ticked of the seconds. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero. Nothing happened. Just silence. This was weird. Graves furrowed his brows. Grindelwald knew just like him when the spell would wear out. He always arrived on time.

So why not today? Something had changed. But what? Could it be…? Graves’ eyes widened as the impossible dawned him. Could it be that they had found out? Could it be that Grindelwald was caught? If so, they were probably all searching for him like crazy. Graves’ decision was made. He would not wait here until they found him. He would leave his apartment and go to MACUSA, informing them about all the crimes that Grindelwald had done against him.

That was if he got up in the first place. Graves turned his head and starred at his legs. His left leg was oddly twisted from the knee on and as stiff as a stick. It had become a useless burden, a dead piece of flesh, attached to him. Still he would not allow himself to get hindered by it. Or his crippled right hand for that matter! All he had to do was get on his feet somehow and manage to exit his apartment. It could not be too complicated, now could it?

Graves took a deep breath. He placed his healthy hand against the wall on his side and pulled his right leg against his side. Still it was hard to get up when he could only rely on one leg. Graves groaned and panted as he pushed himself up, using the wall behind him for major support. His back felt like someone was skinning it, his shoulders seemed to dislocate. His breath hinched in his throat and when he finally stood on both of his feet, it felt odd. As if his soles were having a different height.

_ Alright. I am up. Now to leave the room. _ Graves licked his lips and slowly nodded his head. He could do this. Letting his gaze wander around, the Director of Magical Security took in his own guest room. The place was reeking and a positive disaster. The window had been shut tight, dust gathered around on all available surfaces possible and the bed looked like it had not been made in weeks. If Grindelwald had let his whole home decay like that, then Graves would give him a tongue-lashing so heavy the dark wizard would die in shame.

To Graves’ luck, the door was not on the other side of the room but at the same side only a few steps away. The Director clawed his healthy hand into the wall for dear life and then slowly turned around. His steps were heavy and unrhythmically. His broken and disfigured leg dragged over the floor like a frozen chunk of meat.  _ Gigot _ , thought Graves bitterly as he glared down at the useless limb,  _ Too bad I cannot murder somebody with it. _

He finally reached the door. Seizing the knob with his hand, he managed to push it open with such a force that he staggered forwards and almost fell down again. Seizing hold of the balustrade, Graves carefully pushed himself on a stable stance again. His breath rasped in his throat. His left hand could barely clasp around the bar, twisted and deformed as it was.

The Director turned his head. There at the end of the staircase was the door. Behind it was freedom. He just had to get to it. Still his body felt so weak. Grindelwald had hardly fed him properly during the time of imprisonment. Leave alone the fact that the tortures had eaten away his strength. His body was thinner, the ribs could easily be seen underneath the skin. His hair was uncombed and longer and he could feel that he had grown a beard.

Graves slowly began to walk down the stairs. However he had hardly done three steps, when the wounded, crippled leg gave away under him. The Director let out a sharp yelp as he tried to get a hold of the balustrade with his right hand, however the wood slipped through his fingers. Falling and rolling down the staircase, Graves felt the sharp edges bite into his sides. The world did a spinning turn, before he crashed down the last few steps and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

His side was on fire. Tears quilled in his eyes, and he hastily blinked them away. His twisted leg laid underneath him and the crippled hand throbbed as if someone had thrown a ragged stone against it.  _ Damn you, Grindelwald! _ This was beyond humiliating. His own body was no longer obeying him. He could literally no longer stand his ground. Whatever imposing stature he used to have, it was long gone now.

Graves exhaled slowly. There was no use in pondering over this or cursing. He had a purpose here. Getting out. He had to remember that. He had to get out. And Graves would not allow some petty frustration to stand in his way. His gaze turned to the door. It was still several steps away. And he knew he would continue to fall down if he did not get himself some help.

Graves carefully pulled himself up again. Sitting there by the staircase, he let his gaze wander around. His dark eyes froze at the sight of a simple, black umbrella, which hung there in the sides. Graves was about to raise his right hand when he recalled with a low, angry huff it was crippled. It would not really be able to channel any magic. Grindelwald had been smart. He had ruined his wand hand! Now Graves had to use a hand he was not familiar with.

Taking a deep breath, he rose his right hand and concentrated himself. Usually he would have just used wandless and non-verbal magic to get the umbrella, however he did not wish to try his luck here. “Accio umbrella!” His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt from the long stretch of time he had not used it. It felt like it took forever for his magic to take effect. The umbrella trembled in its hold, before it slowly flew towards him as if an invisible weight was slowing it down. It was not moving in a clear line and dropped almost thirty centimetres before Graves.

Seriously?! Now even his magic was starting to fail him! Graves wanted to scream at Grindelwald for this. He rolled his eyes in annoyance, leaned forwards and fished for the umbrella. Pulling it close to him, Graves wrapped his fingers around the dark wooden hold and finally managed to pull himself up on his feet. Now that he actually had something to hold on, it was easier.

Still his walk was far from perfect as Graves placed as much weight as he dared on the umbrella and carefully walked towards the door. Stopping before it, he realised that his crippled hand would not be able to move the handle. He frowned in annoyance. Why had he not considered this? Grindelwald’s actions had turned Percival’s world upside down, and he had to reconsider the silliest things.

Hobbling over towards the closest window, Graves took the umbrella and broke the window without any hesitation. Glass shattered and fell on the floor. The Director threw the umbrella out of the hole. He then took a careful hold of the window sill with his free hand and swung himself out of the window. It was far from graceful. Percival landed on his back in a rather weird position and coughed.

As he staggered to his feet, clinging to his umbrella, he spotted an old No-Maj lady, which walked over the sideway. Stopping by the fence, the madam looked at Percival and gave him a questioning and uncertain look. Graves rose a hand and gave her a shaky wave, smiling. The lady walked away.

_God, that was embarrassing._ Graves was used to have a certain aura around him. He had a natural air of authority and the way he usually walked showed everybody that he knew his job. He was respected by his Aurors and feared by all the criminals. However it seemed that Grindelwald had even stripped him of this ability. He had first only believed that what had happened would make moving around a burden. However he now realized: Things were far more complicated.

_Get to the Woolworth Building, Percival. You can complain about some kind of loss of pride later on._ Arming himself with the umbrella, the Director of Magical Security began the long task of getting to his working place. He usually would have just aparated, however his lack of balance now proved to be a problem. Thus a trip that usually took him a few seconds extended itself into a journey of thirty minutes.

As Graves walked alongside the streets, he could not help but draw the attention of a few No-Majs. They gave him odd looks. A few children pointed at him. Percival tried to ignore them all as he kept walking. Stubbornness in flesh and bone. The umbrella made a soft clinking sound again and again.

How would they receive him when he finally arrived? Would they welcome him? Would they be shocked? Relieved? Had any of them noticed that he was gone? Graves somehow doubted that heavily. After all Grindelwald had impersonated him for quite some time, and he would always tell Graves how little hope the Director had. 

But now Grindelwald had been caught. Graves could not help but smile grimly to himself as he walked towards the Woolworth Building. Look who was talking now! Grindelwald was imprisoned. He would be executed. Nothing seemed more satisfactory. This man deserved death and much more. While America had never been really affected by Grindelwald’s terror, Graves had experienced the man’s madness on himself and could easily understand what everybody in Europe must have felt.

The walk to the building was difficult. Graves had not eaten anything for what must have been days, and his body had entered a crisis mode. He could hardly focus, every step seemed to be harder then the next. His breath bite in his throat. His muscles trembled.

Finally Graves halted. Before him stood the Woolworth Building. The Director squinted his eyes. Something was odd. It took Graves a few seconds to get what confused them. There was a light behind the windows and music filled the street. Were they…having a party? Graves felt his jaw drop and he furiously shook his head. There was no other explanation.

Why? Did they have nothing better to do? For example look for him? Or had they presumed that he was dead? Graves felt a pang of fear in his stomach at this thought. It made him feel anxious and he never felt like this before. Shaking his head to scatter any doubt, Graves pushed the door of the Woolworth Building open.

Graves had not really gotten far. It was as if his entire body reminded itself that he was completely exhausted. After three steps, his limb leg gave away under him and Graves collapsed again. A thought of desperation shot through his mind, and at the doorway he thought he could spot golden hair and hear a woman call: “Tina, get a doctor! This is impossible!”


	5. A decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,  
> this chapter surprised me in many ways. One: It was the longest so far. Two, Picquery suddenly became a badass. The chapter also has several POVs. So basically, it is a monster of experiments. I hope you will all enjoy it. As always, I look forwards to comments, kudos and your opinion on this all.  
> Lots of love,  
> Miss T.

Graves opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. A low huff and gasp escaped him in an almost startling manner. His own body had to catch up with waking up from his own subconsciousness. He was laying on a mattress so soft it almost made him cry. He was safe. He was in the hospital wing of MACUSA. Everything was well. They would find a way to fix his broken leg and the crippled hand. And Grindelwald would die. He could finally breath. The danger and terror was over.

The hospital wing was laying in the ground floors in the far west side of the building. It was a long stretched room with several beds standing side by side. Metal stands and carpets to shield people from each other out of respect. The air smelled of medication. Graves carefully sat up in his bed and gazed down at himself to get a proper look. His crippled hand had been bandaged just like his foot. Next to him on the night-stand stood a glass of water and a box of pills. When Percival squinted his eyes, he read  _ Mafalda Hopkirch’s Painkiller Pills – Excellent for people with nausea, blood, broken limbs, death and nothing _ .

Graves rolled his eyes. Yes, he knew he was wounded, however that did not mean that he was completely broken. In fact, he knew that the wounds on his hand and leg had healed probably weeks ago. The Director quivered. He tried not to think about what had happened too hard. He still had nightmares from this incidence. All Percival wanted was to forget the torment and humiliation Grindelwald had put him through.

“Mister Graves!” He turned his head and saw a woman with short, brown hair and amber eyes approach him with quick steps. Percival felt a smile crack up around his lips and a sigh of relief and happiness escaped him. Finally a familiar face! Porpentina Goldstein had not changed in his absence. She still wore this pale blue, soft cloak which hid her pretty frame so well. She even had the same hat on. Stopping before him, the woman eyed him with a similar relief he himself felt.

Tina’s smile was weak and there seemed to be tears in her eyes as she whispered: “You are awake, finally.” Percival looked at her and gave her an appreciated nod. If there was any face he had wished to see after he woke up, it was this woman. He had a certain fondness for both Goldstein sisters. He liked how they brought a certain warmness

Graves smiled feebly and responded: “It is good to see you too, Miss Goldstein. Though I am surprised to see you. I thought, you had been transported to the Wand Permit Office after… your outburst.” He had been present when Tina had been stripped off her rank for using magic in front of the No-Maj Mary Lou. Madam President had even played with the thought to make her leave MACUSA entirely. It had only been thanks to Percival’s great persuasion skills that the ex-Auror had been permitted to stay and work in the wand department. Tina had admitted towards the Director that she had merely attacked Mary Lou to protect a young boy called Credence, who seemed to be...different.

Graves had to promise Tina to watch after Credence on occasions since she could no longer do this herself. And even though Picquery had forbidden Porpentina to go near the Second Salemer, Percival knew she was overstepping the rules. And the Director permitted it. He too had sensed the oddity in Credence and while he felt pity for the boy, he reminded himself that he did all this only for one reason: Because Miss Goldstein had asked it of him. And even though he had developed something what people may call a friendship towards Credence, Percival was sure that Grindelwald had destroyed that as well.

Tina turned awkwardly red and scratched her neck. She looked aside, a gesture she often did when she was nervous or shy as Percival had noticed. Chewing on her lips, she confessed: “ Yes, I have been there. However after Newt and I managed to capture Grindelwald, Madam President reinstated me as an Auror.” 

Percival’s eyes widened and he leaned forwards. He had known or rather assumed that Grindelwald had been caught, however he would never have expected Tina to have her hands in this. Newt. That was an unfamiliar name. Or maybe not quite too unfamiliar. In the depths of his mind, Percival thought he could recall his war colleague Theseus Scamander mention to have a younger brother, Newt. Someone who worked with dragons. Not even an Auror. He almost laughed.  _ Great! The professionals are so incompetent that they need someone entirely unprofessional to catch one of the most dangerous people on the planet. _

However he restrained himself to let out some kind of mockery in frustration. This clearly was not the right time for such. She had obviously preformed excellent work. And if he was rethinking it, Graves had to admit that Tina had the one character trait, which might have helped her enormously. Her heart was in the right place and she had a strong sense for justice. This, coupled with her determination, made her get her tasks done, whether they were set by authority or not. “ My congratulations then”, he responded, “You really deserve it. I knew you had the heart in the right place, though sometimes your emotions are getting in the way of your logic.”

There was a hint of pink at her cheeks. “ Thanks, Mr. Graves.” However when she looked back at him, the colour vanished and was replaced with a look of shame and desperation. She blurted out: “I am so grateful that you are alive. And I am so, so sorry. We had no idea. I swear, if we had known you had been replaced, we would have come for you sooner. We would have saved you. We would not have Grindelwald do what he did. We –”

Graves rose his hand and cut her short with a quiet and firm tone: “ Miss Goldstein, you are not at fault. Please, calm yourself. The fact that Grindelwald fooled you just shows that the fault. lies with me. I should have prepared you better. Then Grindelwald would never have been able to pull this trick of. He played us all. Trust me: This is not your fault.” It pained him to admit this but he knew it was true. And this truth was bitter to swallow. “Though why are you here?”

“Madam President asked me and Mr. Oates to watch over you. She wishes to know what happened. What did Grindelwald do to you?” Her question sounded so simple, and yet it felt as if someone had pulled a rug from under him. Graves stared at Tina but he could not really see her. For a short moment his mind was occupied with something else. Something wet and cold, which evolved itself into splintering, immense pain. It almost made him shrink back.

“I don’t want to talk about it”, he stammered. _Do not panic now, Graves. You are save. Breath. In and out._ He did not wish for Tina to see how vulnerable he actually was.

“But Mister Graves…”

“Please, Miss Goldstein, I _cannot_ talk about what happened with me. Nor do I _want_ to. I just want to forget it.” His firm gaze, which had been locked with hers for so long, slowly softened as it became incredibly tired. Percival slowly leaned himself back in the pillow. His breath escaped in a quiet huff, and he closed his eyes. “Now please, if you have nothing more to inquire, could you leave me be? I need to rest.”

“Very well, Mister Graves.” Though he could not see her face, he could hear the pity in her voice. The worry, the concern. Her footsteps slowly crunched over the ground as she walked away from his bed. And Percival stared at the white sheets and tried to find the peace of sleep again.

***

The party had been shut down when Tina had shouted something along the lines of “Percival Graves” and “Get a doctor”. Seraphina Picquery had ordered all guests to please retreat to their hotels and rooms so she could take care of her Director. The news had startled and worried everybody, however for once they followed the instruction without anyone making a bad comment. The fact that Percival Graves had returned came so out of nowhere that no government official found it respectable to now throw a witty comment as this clearly was not the right time.

Albus Dumbledore had his room in one of the guest rooms in the Woolworth Building. While usually nobody lived in there, whenever a government official visited, this was a case where he would be brought into one of the rooms in the third floor. These rooms were equipped with a bed, a cupboard, a small bathroom and a table to work on. The furniture was kept in fair brown and white tones, looking modest and humble, but even here the banner of MACUSA hang at one of the walls. Bad tongues said that the eyes of the phoenix were actually enchanted so that Seraphina Picquery could spy on her guests.

If this was indeed the case, then Albus Dumbledore had done the right precaution in casting a sound hiding spell and putting a sheat of white paper on the phoenix’ head. He was walking on thin ice more then anybody else in here. Nobody, of course, had recognised Gellert Grindelwald in Gabriel Grimmwood. Just as nobody had noticed that the servant had snuck away in the confusion when Tina had revealed that Graves had returned. Albus had a fair guess where Gellert had gone, however he would be a fool to call him out. It was not just his past that prevented him from taking an action against his former friend, it were also several items. If anybody learned of him having connections with the most wanted wizard of the world, then Albus had gotten himself an oneway trip to prison for sure. As much as he wished to be the one to catch Gellert Grindelwald, he was not ready. Not yet.

_ Life does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints. It merely takes and takes and takes. So do love and death. And still we all keep living anyway. Despite all our mistakes and missteps. Our life has so many roads we can take and so many outcomes. If there is a reason for all my loss, tears, love and mistakes, then I am willing to wait for it. _ For God’s sake, he was willing to wait. And even though everybody urged him to take action and finally give his support to this game, which had so high stakes for everybody involved, he rather preferred to lay in wait. He was not standing still. People should not think this. He did care for what was going on in regards to Grindelwald. But he was cautious. For things were so complicated. So very complicated.

Albus had opened his suitcase and pulled out a black box with a silver lock. Hesitantly, he slowly placed it on the table. Leaning over it, the Professor took out his wand. Tapping against the lock, he muttered a series of charms to unlock this box. The charms Albus had placed upon this box were complex and convoluted, grinding into each other. It were not just the simple charms you learned at Hogwarts. It was not just pure magic either. As noble as he may appear before everybody else, Albus knew his good share of dark magic himself thanks to Gellert, and he was using it. Rarely maybe, but he did. For what this box contained had to be protected at all costs. Nobody, absolutely nobody but he himself, should be able to open it.

When the last charm seeped into the lock, it clicked and slowly began to unfold itself like a lovely flower. Shaping a small almond blossom, it revealed the actual keyhole. Albus carefully placed his wand into the prepared hole. “Alohomora”, he whispered. Another clicking sound and the lock finally allowed itself to be opened. Albus looked around one more time to make sure that he indeed was alone, before he carefully took the lid of the box and pushed it upwards.

Inside the black box on red velvet laid a simple leather diary. It was of a dull black tone in colour and the edges were starched by gold plates. Fool’s gold probably. The diary had no name stamped onto it, however in the centre of its cover was a small triangle of gold with a vertical line and a circle inside of it. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows. One symbol, which most people associated with Gellert Grindelwald. However for Albus, this emblem meant so much more.

His hands trembled a bit as he slowly took the diary in his hand. Sitting down, Albus settled the diary in his arms and carefully opened it. The pages were yellowish from age, pale from the lack of sunlight. Upon them ran words drawn in a fast and clean handwriting. The ink in which they had been written was equally pale, brown instead of blue. There were letters laying between pages, glued to them. Albus’ eyes wettened a bit as he let them wander over the words, which would start always the same:  _ Dear Albus _ and end the same:  _ Dein Gellert _ . The context between these two lines would differ a lot. They either told of a new world of glory and freedom, a world of equality, a world without fear or they told of simple times spent together in a garden or room, times that sounded of hushed words, laughter, the feel of fingers on skin, lips on lips and the taste of chocolate on the tongue. The words spoke of passion, care, anger, determination, friendship, love. They were a firework, building colours and flames out of nothing but words.

Albus had collected all of Gellert’s letters in this diary.  _ You built me rooms out of words, corridors out of sentences, halls out of passages and castles out of letters.  _ While his friend had never been as poetic as Albus had been in his language, they still had spoken the words of the intellectual. They were masters of king’s English and poetic phrases. With them Albus also noted down ideas he had in the diary: Regarding the Greater Good, regarding Ariana, but most of all regarding Gellert. He wrote down his wishes and dreams, his deepest fantasies. His love was so clear in all these pages, in every word, every paragraph, every syllable.

As Albus kept flipping through the pages, he finally found what he had been looking for. There somewhere in the centre of the book, he had glued a photograph. It depicted two young men. The one on the left was a bit shorter then the other one. He had short, smooth hair and clear eyes. His face was soft, round and young. He was wearing a brown vest over his white shirt. His arms were crossed in confidence. The boy next to him looked more gloomy in his dark, military-like uniform. His face was angular and pointy with sharp cheekbones. He had not changed much in reality and even his picture self contained a hint of arrogance and cunning in his face.

Albus slowly laid his fingertips on the Gellert on the photograph. Both figures were breathing calmly and sometimes flinching a few seconds, but they did not seem offended when the fingers touched them. The red haired Professor felt tears dwell in his eyes. He had found his old friend again. In one of the most dire circumstances. In one of the oddest situations. Why was fate such a cruel mistress? She decided that they could not be together, she forced them apart and even when they met, it did not feel like the reunion Albus had pictured.

“ _The man you seek is long gone!”_ Gellert Grindelwald’s words echoed in his head, together with the image of his sharp, spitting face. It only ached more that he still looked like the boy on this photograph. As if no time had passed at all. Maybe if he had differed in his appearance, Albus could have pretended that he was indeed a different man. No! He was kidding himself. No matter how Gellert Grindelwald looked like, no matter what he had done, no matter what terror he let rain down upon them, Albus Dumbledore would never be able to hate him. His love for this man forbid any hate or disdain. Yes, there was a certain bitterness and melancholy in him, but it was not enough for him to hate Gellert. For he mostly blamed himself for Ariana’s death.

Had Gellert really changed so much? It was hard to say. Albus tried to search for the boy he used to know in this elegant, refined but so cruel man he had met at the party. It was so hard. Had the boy he had known in Godric’s Hollow been an illusion? Had it all been an act? It had felt so real, the love they had shared for each other. No, it had to be real! You could not fake strong emotions like that.

Albus carefully pulled up his left sleeve. There on his wrist was the mark that Gellert had warned would be his exposure. Like a drawing of ink, the Deathly Hallows symbol covered his arm. It was not even large, just big enough to press two or three fingers upon it. However it was more then just an ordinary tattoo. It was the manifestation of the oldest promise Gellert and Albus had given each other so many, many years ago.

“ _We will be friends forever, won’t we, Albus?”_

“ _Of course, Gellert.”_

“ _Niemals allein. Versprochen?”_

“ _Never alone. Promised!”_

Albus thoughtfully eyed the tattoo., however he did not touch it. Shaking his arm to make the sleeve cover his tattoo. again, he whispered: “You may proclaim that you have changed, Gellert, but I do not believe you. I know that the boy I fell in love with is still in you, somewhere. And I will find and rediscover this boy. You can trust me in that.” And with these words, the Professor shut his diary and stored it away in the box. Closing his suitcase, he picked it up and slowly left the room.

***

 

Seraphina Picquery’s office laid in the high towers of the Woolworth Building. The President herself was sitting at her large, oak desk. Files laid on it together with a stamp pad, an ink bottle and a quill. Seraphina now wore a simple, stylised and perfectly cut, dark satin blazer. Her blonde hair was almost hidden under the black turban she wore. Her amber eyes were locked with Tina’s brown ones. Worry and concern glimmered in them. Despite her serious posture, Seraphina’s voice was surprisingly gentle as she asked: “How is he doing?”

Porpentina Goldstein was kneading her fingers together. She sighed and looked down. A short smile on her lips as she confessed: “Better. He has finally woken up. He still looks a bit tired, Madam President, but I believe he will be better soon.” Seraphina breathed out in relief. Before her eyes, she still saw the collapsed and broken man before her. That crippled leg and deranged hand. That pure look of exhaustion on his face. It made her stomach quiver. It was not like Picquery had never seen terror before, but for some reason what had happened with Graves had hit close home.

“Thank goodness”, Seraphina called out, “Did he tell you what has happened? What Grindelwald had done to him?”

“I am afraid but he did not say anything. He does not wish to remember.” Tina shook her head slowly as she replied.

“But how are we supposed to help him if he is not telling us what has happened. Grindelwald clearly committed a crime against him! Does he not wish for justice?” Her voice had become louder for a few seconds. She rose from her seat and slowly walked around the counter. Tina followed her with the eyes. She replied: “Madam President, he cannot talk about it. He refuses to talk about it. He looked so very tired...”

Seraphina stopped before Porpentina. Her voice lowered into a quiet whisper and her gaze did not broke the Auror’s as she spoke: “He changed. I know Percival Graves, Miss Goldstein, and I know he would never have allowed any acts of crime go without punishment. Grindelwald did something to him that ruined my best man! I will not let this cruelty go unpunished. I will not let him get away with whatever monstrous act he committed!”

She was furious. The last three weeks had made her be anxious and paranoid because she had not known what had happened with her Director. But now she knew what had happened. It did not make things better. In fact, it made them worse. Grindelwald had hit them deeply. They had lost one of their most important man. The last three weeks had been a turmoil for Seraphina and they had shown her more then once how much she needed Percival’s guidance and assistance to make it through this war. Maybe she had burdened him with too much.

All of a sudden, the door banged open and Abernathy rushed into the room. Before he was even half inside, he shouted: “Madam President!” Seraphina turned around sharply and with crossed arms stared at Abernathy in a similar fashion she had done when Tina had busted the meeting with Newt Scamander so many months ago. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Tina stumble behind the table and hide as if by a secret instinct.

Seraphina stated coolly: “Mr. Abernathy, what did I say about entering a room without knocking?” Abernathy gasped out of breath and with a wild gesture of his hand explained: “I am sorry, Miss Picquery, but something terrible happened.” She shifted her weight on her legs slowly. “What happened, Abernathy? Did someone hex the toilets in the wand permit department again?”

“No, that’s not it.” Abernathy’s laugh sounded feeble and false. He braced himself like someone who had some bad news. “Madam, I do not want to bother you and I would not if it was not really important but:” - his calm demeanour broke at once as he shrieked like a girl - “GELLERT GRINDELWALD ESCAPED HIS PRISON AND YOU HAVE TO COME RIGHT NOW!” Embarrassed by his outbreak, he added with a red face and an awkward smile:“Please?!”

“What???”, Tina shouted loudly and in disbelief. She staggered out of her hiding position. Seraphina thanked god that she was not holding anything or had drunk something, because at these news she would have dropped the item and spat out her drink. While Tina’s eyes were wide in shock, Seraphina’s pupils only widened briefly like those of a panther.

No, this was not the time to panic. The situation had to be grasped in its fullest and understood. That’s what Percival Graves would have done.  _ “You have it in your heart to be a good leader. You are simply overthinking too much.” _ These had been his words when she had been doubting herself again. It was time that she was embracing what she was actually meant to do. The other ministries painted her as a laughing stock and her people lost faith in her. Her days in the office were running out. She had to make them count.

“How is that possible?”, inquired Picquery, “The High Security cells are escape-proofed with the most updated and complexed system of security charms. Nobody ever escaped from them.” “Nobody knows…. That’s why they sent for you”, admitted Abernathy. He looked so young when he stammered these words. Seraphina could feel his and Porpentina’s eyes upon her. They looked for her guidance. They were waiting for her to make a decision.

Taking a deep breath, Seraphina gave her next orders: “Very well. Mr. Abernathy, get Mr. Oates and go the high security cells. Check for any clues how Grindelwald escaped. Miss Goldstein, you are coming with me.” She slowly began to walk out of her office, Tina on toe.“We must talk to Percival Graves. Maybe he knows something we don’t.”

Tina hurried up to catch the President. She stammered: “But Miss Picquery, Mr. Graves said, he is not yet ready to talk.”

“Miss Goldstein, a terrorist just escaped. This is an emergency. We must talk with Graves right now!”

***

Graves did not know how long he had slept. Maybe a few hours, maybe even less. No matter how long he had slept, it felt way too short for him. The Director carefully sat up. He did not know what had woken him. However the mystery soon became clear: Steps rushed down the hallway, the double-winged door of the hospital wing opened, and Picquery herself and Tina entered.

Percival watched them cross the corridor between the beds. He easily caught the worry on Madam President’s face. The darkhaired man had been the Director of Magical Security during her entire reign as President and he had helped her through many tough choices. He had been her constant guidance. Thus he had learned to read the Afro-American woman’s face. And what he read in it now was concern and worry. In parts for himself, but in larger parts for the wizarding community. Something bad and unexpected had happened.

The President halted before Percival’s bed. Tina stood slightly behind her and her brown eyes darted between the Director and the Madam. Seraphina got straight to her point: “Mr. Graves, I sincerely apologise for disrupting your sleep but I must have a few words with you. Just a few minutes ago, Abernathy reported to me that Gellert Grindelwald escaped. Thus I must know what has happened with you. What did that man do to you?”

“He escaped?”, repeated Percival in disbelief, “This cannot be.” The Auror slowly shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He had to digest this information. This was terrible! He had come here to be saved, and now the one man whom he had tried to run from had escaped. In a way nobody understood. It felt like a personal mockery against his own pride. Graves looked down at his hands. The crippled one laid on his knee. He slowly formed his healthy one into a fist. Sighing deeply, he confessed: “Miss Picquery, I am afraid as much as I wish to tell you what has happened with me, I do not wish to speak of it. The memory of it is too painful, too fresh. I….I do not know if I can form into words what has happened with me.”

Tina rose her head and quietly cut in: “It is alright, Mr. Graves. Nobody is rushing you to answer as fast as you can. Your personal health comes first.” Percival turned his head towards her. He gave her a weak and appreciating smile. “Thanks, Tina”, he murmured. It was lovely how she considered such a simple thing. And though Graves did not really feel under pressure, there was indeed something holding him back. Something he could not yet really name.

Looking at the younger Auror, Picquery replied: “I of course agree with Miss Goldstein, Mr. Graves. However this situation is dire indeed. I do not know how Grindelwald escaped. In fact nobody knows how he escaped. Thus any information, no matter how small it is, is of great importance.”

“Did someone look at the high security cells, Seraphina?”

“Yes, this is done right now as we speak.”

Percival slowly smiled and a hint of pride laid in his eyes. For some people it was odd that he would ever look at his superior in this way. But then Picquery was younger then him. Maybe only by a few years, but still: They had known each other way before she had run for President. She had been an Auror like him and they had trained alongside each other, learned for the tests together. If you were doing this kind of training together, it often happened that you learned to watch after each other. And somehow Percival had ended up looking after Picquery. Just like he was doing with Tina now.

“Excellent.” Graves slowly nodded. “Well, I will be honest: I have not seen much of Grindelwald’s magic as I slept the majority of my capture. However I recall seeing that he could somehow bend the shadows to his will.” “Bend the shadows?”, repeated Tina like someone who was staring at a chemical test and had no clue what all the symbols meant on the paper. “Yes, he somehow tied me up with tendrils made out of my own shadow. It was not a spell I recognised. However maybe he can do more with it?”, explained Percival. He looked from Tina to Picquery, expecting a reaction towards his theory.

Seraphina’s eyes lit up. Percival could literally see her brain work behind her temples as she began to analyse what he had told her and drew the possible conclusions. Her head nodded shortly. “That would explain something. Thanks for telling me this, Percival.” Her lips twitched into the tiniest of smiles as she looked at him.

Percival bopped his head in respect. “I wish you the best of luck with catching Grindelwald again. And Seraphina, if I were you, I would make Tina and Tobias work together. I presume Miss Goldstein and Mr. Oates could form a valuable team as Mr. Oates has the logical mind and conclusional skills while Miss Goldstein has a better understanding of the people.”

“Thank you for your suggestion, Mister Graves. I will be sure to consider it.” Seraphina nodded towards him and turned around to take her leave. Tina stood there, apparently speechless by her Director’s suggestion. She looked at Graves, cheeks flushed and tried to say something, but then decided against it. Rushing past the bed, she followed Picquery, who on her way out almost collided with a very certain red haired Professor.

Percival heard Picquery utter a call of surprise and a stranger apologise. The shuffling of feet. Raising his head, the Director peered towards the still open door. There stood a truly odd looking fellow. It was a young wizard of maybe fourthy years of age. His hair had an auburn tone and was curly in parts. He wore a small pair of golden glasses on a crooked nose. His lips and chin were covered in the shimmering hints of a red beard. That was not what made him look strange in this place. It were his clothes.

What was this for a colour scheme? Graves squinted his eyes in uncertainty. The man wore a velvet jacket of a deep purple colour. Underneath it, Percival could spot a red, slightly maroon vest and a fair orange pullover. The clothing was stitched. There were small emblems and symbols encaved into the fabric, mostly moons and stairs. The man’s trousers were held in a simple, brown tone and his shoes were pointy and had an urban touch to them.

The man was looking around and seemed slightly lost. “Mister!”, called Percival. Turning his head, Graves was faced by unnaturally clear blue eyes that twinkled in question. The Director rose his hand and pointed in the opposite direction this strange oddity had come from. “The exit is that way”, he explained.

The man followed his look with a genuine smile. “Oh”, he said in a way someone else would have said ‘Thank you’. However instead of following the direction given to him, the man entered the hospital wing, crossed the room and then stopped before his bed. Percival felt the blue eyes scan him, however the look was not uncomfortable. In fact it was rather calm and gentle. Still Graves was wreaking his brain as he tried to figure out who this dude was. He had the feeling that he should know somehow, however his mind was cringing at the man’s sense of fashion instead of actually coming up with a name.

The man asked curiously: “Excuse me, but are you Percival Graves, Sir?” Graves rose a brow and inquired back; “That depends. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” The red haired man smiled kindly and bopped his head as he introduced himself: “Of course. My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore.”

This was Albus Dumbledore. Graves blinked in disbelief. He had heard about this man and read many articles written by or about him. He was a well-known wizard and respected among his people. He was friends with Nicholas Flamel and had discovered twelve usages of dragon blood. Graves was not sure what he had expected from this reputation alone. Maybe someone less eccentric and weird.

He slowly rose his healthy hand and closed his fingers around Dumbledore’s hand. Percival slowly shook it and stated: “You are quite the man, Mister Dumbledore. I wish our meeting could have been under more fortunate circumstances.” He let go and carefully sat up a bit better in his bed to have some sense of dignity.

To the respectful praise, Albus responded: “I heard a few things about you as well. Your fellow Aurors speak very highly of you. They say you are one of the best Directors of Magical Security MACUSA ever had. They are very sorry that they did not notice that Grindelwald imitated you. I had feared that this could happen. This branch of transfiguration is very tricky, however people can master it nonetheless.”

Hearing the other man’s speech, Percival sighed low. Even with a ‘stranger’ the topic of Grindelwald did not leave him alone. Of course not. This man had replaced him for such a long time. Would it ever be possible that someone could talk with him without mentioning Grindelwald and his imprisonment in one breath? He did not need someone else’s pity.

Graves tried to sound as stern as possible as he responded: “They are not guilty and should not feel bad. I am the one who should feel bad. I failed my team. I failed the President and I failed my community.” There was no other way he could put this. The fact that he had been caught irked him. It was like a bite of an insect in the neck he could not get rid off, no matter how hard he tried.

“Well, now you can make up for that mistake once you have recovered.” Dumbledore’s words were clearly meant to cheer him up, however Graves only groaned. His eyes rolled in their caves as he looked at Albus. His voice was bitter when he explained: “Please, Professor, I can kid myself. Have you seen my leg and my hand? I am in no condition to return back to my work as a Director of Magical Security and an Auror. Besides Grindelwald ruined my reputation in that one move. My team may have lost its trust in me. If Picquery is smart, she will let me have retire. And if she is not doing, the public will force her to do it. So no, it is best if I just leave MACUSA once I am recovered.”

Albus blinked. His eyes seemed to dull briefly. “I am sorry for this.” Percival cleared his throat and slowly shook his head. “Don’t be, Mister Dumbledore. I knew the risks I had when I went to arrest Grindelwald. I believe I can consider myself lucky that I made it out alive.” He looked back at the red haired man in interest.“However what are you doing here?”

The Professor eyed Percival for quite some time. He seemed to consider if he could entrust him with whatever he was going to say. Taking a deep breath, he explained finally: “I have decided to do some research. On Grindelwald’s past. I believe, if we wish to defeat an enemy, we have to know and understand him. And let’s face it: Grindelwald is an enigma. Hardly anybody knows anything about him. I am trying to find out as much as I can.”

That was unexpected. Percival stared at Albus for a couple of minutes. He had thought this man could not surprise him more after these weird clothes. But apparently it was Professor Dumbledore’s trademark to do the things you least expected. Graves inquired: “What about your position in Hogwarts, Sir? Do you think you can just leave it alone?”

“I believe I can. The Ministry keeps asking for my help, so this will easily be excused.”

“You’ll go alone?”

“I had intended to. Why?” Albus cocked his head and gave him a curious and slightly confused look.

Percival could not believe that he was about to say this. However he was so angry with himself and his situation that the idea was welcoming because of its outlandish nature. From all follies he had ever been through, this felt like the most reckless and dangerous. “I cannot bear the thought of laying here, useless, while everybody else fights”, confessed Percival, “Just because I can no longer be the Director, I still wish to do my part. Grindelwald ruined my body, my reputation and my life. Moreover you might always need some help.” He paused briefly. “I will come with you.”


	6. Onto New Shores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,  
> I am very sorry that this took me forever to write. University work and motivation loss came in between. Anyway the chapter is finally done, and I am glad to return to Schattenkind. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it. Kudos and comments are appreciated.  
> Yours sincerly,  
> Miss T.

The sea hissed and its waves shot against the side of the ship, sending sprays of salty water into Modesty’s long, pale blond hair. She stood near the noose of the large passenger ship as it made its way over the ocean. Modesty had seen the sea before, when she and her brother and Ma went near the harbour to buy fish in the market, but this was different. This was no longer seeing the waves run against the harbour’s edges. This was being on the sea, being a part of it. This gentle rocking as the boat went up and down, up and down. The cool breeze in her hair. A few seagulls cried over her head, and there was no cloud in the sky. Everything felt so new and exciting.

Modesty stood there, doing her best to balance herself as she gazed around in wonder. She had spent the last few hours running around on the ship, peeking into every window, lean over the railing and hopping over the rolled up ropes. There were many different people on the ship with their luggage. Men and women. Old and young. However they all seemed fairly rich. Modesty was sure: Ma would not have the money to get a trip on a ship like that.

This was not the only reason she was so excited. This ship was not just going anywhere. It went to England. To the country on the other side! Modesty had spent her whole life in New York. She of course knew America was not the only continent of the world, but France, Germany, England… These words sounded more like they came from a fairy tale to her. According to Gellert, Credence was on these new shores. If they could just find him. Modesty closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, feeling her small chest puff up. 

After Credence had left her and been engulfed by the shadows and the darkness, she had feared that he was dead and that she was alone now. However according to Gellert, Credence was alive. Modesty missed her brother so much, it physically hurt. They had always been so close, especially for a brother and a sister who shared no blood flowing through their veins.

Modesty turned around. The boat was full. People stood in groups together and talked quietly. They all seemed very busy. Except for one person. The man was sitting on a bench, hands in the pockets of his cloak. He was wearing a simple, black leather cloak, hood in his face. Modesty quickly hurried over and sat down on the bench besides him. The person turned his head. Under the hood, black and blue eyes glimmered. A few strands of golden hair danced over his face. Grindelwald looked younger now, but according to him this was his real face and that the other face she had seen, had been created by magic. It amazed Modesty. Could magic really fundamentally change how someone looked? Moreover, how did someone remain this young?

“Did you get tired of the sea so quickly?”, asked Gellert Grindelwald softly. 

Modesty remembered how Ma would scold her if she did not like a particular exercise or a rhyme. She had been drilled to dance and sing the rhyme which started with the familiar words of ‘My momma, your momma, gonna catch a witch’. She had said them so often that she had soon learned to just let her body follow the dancing moves and let the words follow the rhythm she knew by heart. Modesty tried not to take much from these lines for so far Gellert had not shown any bad magic. So maybe Ma’s nursery rhyme had gotten things wrong?

Still having been trained not to protest or say what she really thought, Modesty stammered: “No, no…. It is really great and pretty, but after a while it becomes, ehm….” She stopped, searching for the right word.  “ Dull? Boring?”, guessed Gellert and slowly rose his brows.  “ Ehm, yes.” Modesty lowered her head at the confession. She feared that Grindelwald would react angrily at her for not showing gratitude. Ma always hammered it into her head to show gratitude for the smallest things.

A new sound made Modesty look up in surprise. Gellert’s body was slowly shaking and trembling. A high, wheezing sound escaped his lips. Modesty narrowed her eyes in worry. Had the other man some kind of fit? It took her a few seconds to realize that Grindelwald was laughing.

The wizard threw his head back and began to laugh so wildly, his hood slipped from his face. Long, gold brown locks, going to his shoulders, curled in the wind. Seeing Modesty’s baffled and shocked face, Gellert responded: “Oh, come on, little generosity. Do not give me that look. I understand you, Modesty. I have been seeing the sea so often on my way to Durmstrang that I got bored of it faster then you can say Abra Kadabra.”

“Durmstrang? What is that?”

“That was the school I went to when I was younger.”

“Wizards have schools?” Modesty blinked in surprise. She had not expected this. For some silly reason she had always believed that wizards and witches could do their evil deeds naturally. From what Ma had always said, it seemed they were all born with these powers and could just do them. They did not have to learn them.

“Yes, they do”, explained Gellert patiently, “And Durmstrang is one of the best. You learn all sort of magic there, and you get prepared for what is important in life. You learn to control your powers.” Modesty curiously leaned closer and asked: “Could I be able to go there?” A wizarding school sounded really exciting. So far she had not been able to see much of Grindelwald’s magic, but the fact alone that he was such a young man felt like a marvel for her. What other abilities could wizards do? What more were they capable off that Ma could not have known about?

“I think so”, mused Gellert and slowly nodded to himself. He allowed her to lean herself against him. However when Gellert wanted to brush through her hair with his fingers, Modesty pulled herself up again. She looked back at him and asked cautiously: “What about Credence? Could he go there?”

Gellert fell silent. He looked away and spoke slowly: “Perhaps … Credence is a special case, Modesty.” Modesty’s stoic look returned and her eyes gleamed with worry. She had known that Credence was different from the other children. He had been as different as she had been herself. Modesty did not know how but she somehow was capable of reading another person’s emotions. She could look at them and feel their feelings emit like waves. This ability had told her more then anything else that Ma did something awful to Credence. However it seemed that Credence differed even more from her then she had thought.

Modesty’s shoulders sank. She too gazed ahead. The waves rushed in her ears, singing their gentle song. Her voice was slow and almost hesitant as she asked: “It is because of the black thing, isn’t it?” “Yes, it is.” Grindelwald did not look at her as he spoke. “What is that thing?” Modesty tugged at the blonde wizard’s sleeve. “You know what it is, don’t you, Sir?”

“It is an Obscurus, Modesty.” Gellert looked at her briefly before he turned his gaze back to the sea. As he kept talking, his next words seemed to be coming from the distance. “During the time witches and wizards were hunted and killed for their abilities, some wizards tried to suppress their magic. These children did not learn how to control their powers. Instead it turned itself against them, turned them inside out and transformed itself into a black force of brute strength beyond anything normal witches and wizards are capable off.”

This could not be! A chill passed through Modesty as she turned the words over and over in her head. What Grindelwald described here, fitted the black thing perfectly. Moreover this was a side of the witch’s hunt, Modesty had no idea off. Of course not! How was Ma supposed to know about this? She may know of witches and wizards but she had no idea how their magic worked. Once again Modesty realised how little she knew of this.

The girl scratched over her arms and eyed her fingers. The nails were dirty. Gellert had said that she herself was a witch. She had no real proof of that. Just his word, and that strange ability. It somehow angered her that she knew so little of this world. This had been a world she had been supposed to grow up in. But instead her actual mother had given her away. Had her family all shared magic? Her sister’s wand seemed to suggest so.

Gellert continued: “Our magic is more then just the ability to make things float, Modesty, or turn an apple into an egg. It is a living thing, a part of our psyche and body. And when we misuse that skill or refuse to use it, it reacts and changes. This happens under dire circumstances. Circumstances of stress and peril.”

Very slowly the pieces fell into place. Modesty looked at Grindelwald as she recalled: “Ma had always beaten, Credence, Sir. She told him, us that magic was evil and bad. That its users were wicked and served the devil, and that they were a danger for us.” Her head dropped again. “It is no surprise Credence became an Obscurus. Ma hated him the most.”

“I think, it is more of a surprise that your brother managed to survive this long”, replied Gellert, “An Obscurial, a child with an Obscurus, hardly ever survives past the age of ten. Your brother is almost twice this age. He is an incredibly gifted man and a true miracle.” The blonde wizard rose and laid his hands on her shoulders. Looking down at her, he suddenly said: “It is an even greater miracle that you have not succumbed to the same fate.”

***

The hand of the clock ticked and it moved up from  _ Trouble _ to _ Emergency. _ The sound like a massive gong rang through the air and soured through Porpentina’s body. She, Seraphina Picquery and Tobias Oates were hurrying over the bridge towards the exit of the Woolworth Building. After the small conversation with Graves, the President had tagged Tina along with the new Director of Magical Security (though she still had not promoted Oates, all supervisors and Aurors knew the chance was incredible high that she would choose him) and was now listening to Oates’ report on what he had discovered in the prison cell.

“What do you mean with you found nothing?”, Picquery asked Tobias in disbelief. The Auror sighed. He repeated himself.: “Nothing. I mean what I said. Nothing. We checked the entire cell, we looked in every corner, under the bed. We shook up the covers to see if there was anything in them. We checked for any spell, any broken bar, any tool, any sign that he somehow escaped and we found no clue whatsoever. It is like he disappeared into thin air. Or was not even there.”

“That’s rubbish, Mr. Oates.” Seraphina had never sounded more angry. Unless Tina counted the moment when she had entered the meeting and had been arrested by Grindelwald, together with Newt and Jacob. There she had looked angry. And even though she hardly rose her voice, Tina knew that in any other circumstances Picquery would have started to shout. “Nobody just disappears into thin air! Not even a wizard as skilled as Gellert Grindelwald. There is an anti-disapparation charm upon the cell. You cannot just apparate out of it like you want.”

“Well, apparently Grindelwald did just that.” Tobias sounded as confused as everybody else. “For I asked the guards. They had not seen him disappear and he did not attack them apparently. In fact, they only noticed that he was gone recently. They had believed he was in his cell until this morning.”

Tina blinked. The situation was getting more and more obscure and strange. When she had started her Auror training, Percival Graves himself had taken her to the high security cells and explained to her how the cells worked. There were dozens of charms upon them and the core system, which had Aurors in every single corridor patrolling day and night. It was supposed to be impossible for anyone to get out.

But Grindelwald had defied impossible. For some reason Tina was not as shocked as she should have been. Maybe because she herself had gotten a taste of his power. It still felt like a dream for Tina when she recalled that fateful duel in the New York streets. Grindelwald had thrown a curse at her to probably knock her out, and Tina in the blink of an eye had managed to throw a charm equally strong. It had been a crazy move in itself, considering that Tina had not known what she had gotten herself into. However even if she had known that she was about to face Grindelwald, she would have acted all the same.

Still the fact that she had been able to stand her ground, had a touch of madness to itself. I _ have been in a duel against Gellert Grindelwald, and I survived it. _ The thought alone was enough to turn her knees into butter. Tina had seen the poor condition Percival Graves had been in from months of capture. She was sure: When Graves had been caught, he had put up quite a fight. Tina knew she could count herself lucky to have survived this situation. It was scary how well she had handled herself. And yet she could not help but think what could have been, should Grindelwald have unleashed all his powers.

“Still. It does not explain how he got out.” 

Seraphina made an angry gesture with her hands, obviously dissatisfied with Tobias Oates’ response. The Auror sighed anxiously and carefully massaged his neck. He gave Picquery a look that clearly showed he was not sure as to what to reply. Tina decided to cut in for a sudden thought had occurred in her: “Madam President, I might have an idea how he got out. Remember when Mr. Graves said Grindelwald could bend the shadows? Maybe he used them to escape the prison. After all Mr. Graves said it was a branch of magic he did not recognise. So the chance is high that he maybe just disappeared in them. I do not know. Are there many shadows in the prison cell?”

“I do not know, Tina. There is this corner where many shadows gather”, confessed Tobias.

_ Bull’s Eye! _ Tina felt her lips pull into a short, cheeky smile. She was not the logical thinker like Seraphina. She was not a person who had amazing, wowing skills with the wand like Graves. However she had a reasonably good gut feeling and keen eyes.  She remembered almost unnecessary, trifling details.  That was the reason she had found Newt act suspicious, while Mary Lou had distracted everybody with her speech. That was the reason she had remembered Graves’ weird words and immediately put them together with what Tobias had described. And it made sense. Way too much sense. Gellert Grindelwald was a cunning man. Of course he would use an uncommon way nobody thought off or considered to escape!

“Then he had to have escaped in the way Miss Goldstein described. And the problem for us is we cannot pinpoint the moment he escaped. Last time we saw him was three days ago.” Picquery took a deep breath as if readying herself for the news of someone having died. “So in the worst case scenario: How far does a wizard get in three days?”

“That could be really far, Madam President. He could have just apparated. So he could be anywhere.”, confessed Tobias. 

However Tina shook her head. She replied:  “ I do not think so, Tobias. Grindelwald still has the tracking chains around him. They are always sending us a passive signal of their whereabouts. And you cannot just use magic to remove them unless you were the person who placed them on. Grindelwald would not dare to break the chains by magic. For if he did that, they would have send off a signal to the nearest Auror  C entral and he would have been cornered instantly. If we track the chains down, maybe we can find him. Or at least the last place where he has been.”

***

Edinburgh was a different labyrinth compared to New York. The city laid at the foot of a large mountain and was compact and compound like sardines in a tin can. The streets were narrow and threw a net over everything. From the major street several smaller streets were bridging off in bridges, narrow alleyways and staircases. The houses towered around Credence. They stood so close to one another that they somehow melted into each other. One could not really tell where one house ended and the other one begun. The windows seemed like hundreds of dark eyes, but their glass was so dim, they seemed to be half blind. Edinburgh had not been able to grow in its length. It did the only thing it could over all these years: Growing in height. Thus the light in them were dim and shady like muddy brown water, spraying over the walls.

Credence had managed to get on a cruise ship, which was heading not to London but to the major town of Scotland. He had not cared where he got. As long as he got away from New York. There was nothing that held him in this city any more. Nothing but sad memories and dangers. The wizards had tried to kill him. He still remembered how dozens of spells rained upon him like the bullets from a gun. They had thorn through his skin and flesh, shredded his bones. He had felt the dark mass inside of him convulse as it tried to somehow protect itself.

But it had all been in vain. Credence had felt his life peel away from him as if someone was skinning an onion. His vision had blurred into flashes of black and white again and again, before the world turned into a milky grey. And he had drifted away. He had felt so light but so vulnerable. He had been carried by the wind, not knowing where to go or what to do. He had been sure, he would just dissolve into thin air and disappear. After all who would miss him? Nobody.

But he had come back. Somehow against all odds and beliefs, Credence had suddenly gasped and felt the air rush through his lungs. His body had convulsed and trembled as he felt wet stone against his back and trousers. His skin had felt raw and vulnerable as if it had been on fire. His head spun and his eyes felt sore. Deep down inside him, he had felt the black thing. The force had pulled at its innards with all its strength. So hungry. Like a shadow under a poisonous bush.

How had he come back? Why had he come back? Had the black mass made him come back? If so, how? Credence did not know. The only person whom he had heard of that had ever come back from the death had been Lazarus and Jesus himself. However they had only come back because the Lord had wanted it so. He did not feel as if God had helped him here. Quite the contrary: Satan had never felt closer. People were not supposed to come back from the dead! But he had somehow. Or had he never died?

Credence could not say for sure. The only thing he knew positively was the fact that the wizards would kill him if they ever learned that he was alive. And thus, with a heavy heart, Credence had turned his back on New York and hid upon the vessel of a ship that travelled to that far off country, he had only heard from Ma’s stories. England. Credence did not know what would await him there. However nothing could be worse then New York, now could it?

Now he was lost. Credence halted by a street light and sighed. He looked around. All these streets looked so identical. By now the evening was slowly creeping over the place and shrouded everything in a misty twilight. The dim street lights sent brown rays to combat the foggy mist all around them with minimal success. He was now standing at a crossroad. Two staircases were leading into different directions. One lead towards the harbour from where Credence had come; the other one seemed to lead deeper into the labyrinth of streets.

Taking a deep breath, Credence turned left and slowly walked towards the depths of Edinburgh. He had shouldered his bag over his back. Actually it was not his bag. It was a sack he had found and filled with some clothing and food. He had stolen these items, and this had not made him comfortable at all. His survival had forced him to do things a good Christian did not do! If Ma could see him now. Oh, how she would have whipped and scolded him! Credence shuddered at the thought alone.

He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he only noticed the steps when he saw a stone roll over the street ahead of him and hit a garbage bin. Halting in caution, Credence looked around. His breath came in fast and wheezy gasp. What was there? A dog, big and scary, with bared teeth and a red tongue? A thief, trying to rob him? Or worst of all: a murderer?!

The panic caused his heart to beat frantically in his chest. In his guts Credence could feel the dark mass twist and turn. It bubbled inside of him like a pot with boiling oil. Credence took a deep breath as he tried to force the dark force down.  _ Not here! Not now! _ He halted and looked around. “Hello?” His voice sounded quiet and feeble. Credence cleared his throat and tried again: “Hello?! Who is there?” He hoped he sounded braver then he felt. A sense of peril had come over him. Usually the dark mass awoke when he was feeling threatened. Often without him realising that he was in danger. Thus he had learned to listen to the dark being inside of his guts.

More stones ran over the streets as steps grew more frequent. Out of the shadows stepped three men. They were haggard looking fellows, but surprisingly though. Like a group of stray Dobermann. Haggard and scared on faces and arms. Their clothes were shabby and smelled of graves. Hair and beards were uncombed. One of them had a broken jaw. The second one seemed to be half blind on one eye, while the last one missed two fingers on his right hand. He was smaller then his companions.

“Sirs?”, asked Credence cautiously, “What do you want from me?” Blind-Eye smiled. “Cut off his path”, he addressed his companions, “and shoot him in the head. He is young and looks pretty healthy. Besides I like his clothes.” Broken-Jaw and Three-Fingers advanced towards Credence. They drew out these magical sticks the black haired boy had seen before. Wands. These people were wizards. However they did not look like government officials. More like common criminals.

Never mind what they were! Credence knew he was in serious danger. His legs staggered backwards and his eyes flashed in fright. The black mass in his stomach twisted and formed. The blood pumped in his ears. He could hear a whisper. It snarled and roared. The words were barely heard in the roaring of the storm inside of him. But after a while Credence could make out the words: “Let… me… free…” It was spoken by somebody who seemed to be trapped in the depths of the earth. Each word resonated through him with a power he could not understand.

The dark mass inside him! Credence recalled what it could do. It was stronger then anybody. It could destroy buildings. His stance changed with this knowledge. He would try to hide it, for sure. However he would not be ashamed in using it any more. This was his weapon! This was his means of defence. He would be a fool to ignore it. Credence drew in a breath. His body was numb from fear, however he did not go into a stupor. As he usually did whenever Ma stood over him with the belt in hand, ready to strike.

Looking at the two men advancing, he stated: “Get away from me.  _ NOW! _ ” His face distorted. The eyes rolled in their caves until the white was clearly visible in them. His skin seemed to throw bristles. Then under a roar like thunder the Obscurus broke out of him. Darkness shrouded him together with a feeling of heat like the fire in a chimney. He felt incredible light, however everything was so red. He could not see anything, only feel this massive wave of rage and hatred and fear.

In the shadows a head appeared, deformed and almost catlike. The Obscurus roared at its opponents. It shot down with a massive force like a sledgehammer. Seizing Blind-Eye who could not react fast enough, it wrapped its stormy coils around him like a python. The Obscurus could hear the man scream but what it heard far clearer was the splintering and crunching of bones. They bend and broke, being driven through the skin.

Keeping a hold upon its victim, the dark force raced down. It dragged the marginalised body upon the ground. The cobblestone tore open. They fell over each other. The Obscurus released its shadowy claws from the man. He dropped down in a large gorge the force had drown into the ground. More stones rolled down like an earth slide, crushing the body between them.

However the dark force did not take notice of these events. Racing as a black, hot wind, it turned itself around and in a sharp edge rushed passed the buildings. They shook under the immense pressure. Windows exploded and glass rained down upon them. Under loud crashing and crunching, a metal staircase, leading up to another window, broke lose from its iron hooks. Twisting and turning in mid-air, the case broke before heavy metal pieces fell down from the sky like comets, burying themselves in the ground.

Hissing, the Obscurus shot over its destruction before it slowly retreated itself and out of the swirls and tendrils of darkness stumbled Credence Barebone, completely exhausted. He leaned against the next wall. His skin ached. The dark force inside of him felt weaker now. It was too soon. They had acted too fast and the period of time for recovery had been way too short. Otherwise the force would have taken all three of these men down like it was nothing.

Credence turned his head. Smoke arose from the burning buildings. The crack in the narrow street formed an abyss. Stones and dirt laid in a pile. From the three men only two were still standing. They stood there, haunched over and stared at Credence. For a short moment caution laid in the air. Would the men attack again? Even after they had seen the power Credence possessed?

“I warn you”, his voice sounded hoarse, “I will do it again!” His body swayed from side to side. Maybe the men noticed his own weakness and that he was bluffing. Broken-Jaw rose his wand. “Avada Kedavra!”, he shouted and a horrible sound filled the air. Like a scythe about to hit flesh. The tip of the wand glowed green. Credence dodged sideways and his shoulders scratched against the wall. A blazing light raced past him, almost blinding him. It crashed into a morsel on the ground.

Credence threw his head around as he hastily looked back at Broken-Jaw. The man bared his teeth and rose his wand again. “Avada…” Credence was not going to wait for him to retry his spell. His luggage landed on the ground with a low thud. He turned around on his heels and started to ran. Behind him another explosion filled the air as the curse hit the spot he had been standing on a few minutes ago. He did not turn around and just scooted along the rood, scurrying around a corner. He had to find a way to get back to the main road!

Credence, despite his lean and slender frame, was not a very good runner. He was a sprinter, however even then he resembled a scared rabbit more then anything else. He had learned to run quick because in the early days before he had learned that you could not outrun Ma, he always tried to get away. However there he never had to run a really long distance.

Thus this was different. Credence’s feet scurried over the cobblestone. Behind him, he could hear the steps of the two pursuers. More then once they yelled spells and the flashes of lightning flew around his ear, so hot it might burn his skin. They would reappear out of nowhere with a loud bang, trying to block of his path. Credence zickzacked around, running for his life.

_ I am not fast enough!  _ Credence panicked. His heart raced in his chest. The breath of his pursuers was in his neck and he could hear the heavy tap, tap of their steps. Looking around left and right, he tried to get a sense of orientation as in where he was. However all these houses looked the same. The streets were way to narrow to change directions fast enough. He could see a few steps and staircases leading towards tunnels but the men were so close that he could not dare to make a dash to either side.

He could not keep this up for much longer! His legs already felt like somebody had set them on fire. Credence was heading towards the exit of another alleyway when with another bang Broken-Jaw appeared before him. The black haired boy let out a sharp scream. By instinct his hands shot forwards and he gave the man a rough shove. Even now his entire body recoiled at the forceful push. Credence did not like becoming violent. It felt wrong.

He staggered past the man who had been taken by surprise. Broken-Jaw somehow managed to give Credence an equally strong push, sending him flying. He hit the ground hard. Credence groaned as he tried to sit up. Somehow he and Broken-Jaw and Blind-Eye had managed to catch up with him on a square. There was a flight of stairs, going down deep and steady nearby. Credence looked up in panic. Broken-Jaw was approaching him. The man’s shoes crunched over the stone. He was rising his magical stick again. The lips pulled into a washed down version of a nasty grin. “Now, this will be over quickly.”

“Impedimenta!” The spell had not been spoken by Broken-Jaw. Nor by Blind-Eye, who stood a few steps behind his leader and seemed confused. Both men looked around cautiously. Credence carefully tried to sit up as he tried to find the caster of this spell. It came shooting through the air, a turquoise glimmer, which dug itself into Broken-Jaw’s chest. He was thrown backwards, knocked of his feet. 

Coming to a halt on the edge of the staircase, the man let out a low yell. Waving his arms, Credence saw him tumble backwards, still stunned by the spell. A low series of thuds and crunches followed as the body fell down the staircase, hitting the edges hard. Every crunch and groan and yelp caused Credence to flinch. He was sitting in a way that allowed him to see the man fall down, flipping over himself again and again. Finally the bruised and bloodied body dropped down at the end of the staircase. Blood ran down his neck and a part of his forehead.

Behind him Credence could hear a panicked, quiet cry. Turning around, he looked at the last criminal. Blind-Eye stared at somebody who was slowly coming down the staircase from above towards them. It was a young man, maybe Credence’s age. He had long, curly, blond hair and a fair face. The eyes glimmered dangerously. He was wearing a black cloak and dark jeans. His boots were pointy at the tip. The stranger stared at Blind-Eye and stated coldly: “Listen here, Mister. You have five seconds to leave, or I will make something happen to you that is far worse then falling down a staircase.”

The stranger halted a few inches before Blind-Eye. The look he gave him made Credence’s blood run cold. It spoke of power and knowledge. This stranger, though lithe and slender, had no match. Blind-Eye seemed to have realised this too, because he raced back the alleyway he had come from as if the devil had decided to pay him a visit. The blond man stared back at him, posture tense and stern.

Finally he relaxed. His shoulders dropped and he buried his hands in his pockets. The man turned back towards Credence. Now that any immediate danger was away from him, the black haired boy seemed to snuff out like a balloon. Legs giving in underneath him, he leaned against the wall and let out a shaky gasp. His hand rubbed over his face, feeling sweat sting to it. Only now did he realise what precisely he had done.

He had killed another man! He had been hunted and pursued by three criminals who had tried to kill him. And in his defence he had killed them.  _ By God! _ Credence remembered the crunching and snapping of the bones as the Obscurus had wrapped itself tightly around Three-Fingers, crushing him with a weight that was not even there. As if this shock had not been enough, he had seen another man be killed before his very eyes. Leave alone the tastes of death, which had breathed upon him in this chase.

The feeling of adrenaline and shock left him in a choked cry of pain and despair. Credence buckled over and pressed his hands over his face. Tears rained down and he shook helplessly. Slumping down where he stood, he did not look up until a pair of hands placed themselves upon his shoulder. A firm, yet gentle grip wrapped itself around him. “Come on”, the stranger said as he helped Credence on his feet, “Get up. They are gone. They can’t hurt you any more.”

Credence leaned himself against the stranger. His touch felt so warm, so reassuring. He caressed Credence’s back and nursed him like a scared child. The dark haired boy leaned his head against the stranger’s shoulder. He rasped: “Who...were those men?”

“They were body snatchers. They are killing people and selling the corpses for money. Edinburgh is a dangerous place at night. You cannot trust anyone.”

“Then why should I trust you?” 

Credence had calmed down. He remembered how bitterly he had paid the last few times when he had trusted somebody blindly. Percival Graves had been his world, his safe harbour in a world of terror. And then he had abandoned him. The boy cautiously took a step backwards. He brushed over his rural clothes, trying to compose himself. Fear had always been his enemy. Fear of the dark, fear of the unknown, fear of the Ma, fear of himself… And he could not allow others to see it.

The blonde man rose his shoulders. He responded: “I did just save your life. Is that not a reason to trust me?” Credence bite his lips. He tilted his head cautiously. The man had a point. But still the way he had just flung Broken-Jaw down the staircase proved that he was dangerous. He was undoubtedly a wizard. However what he wanted from him, Credence had no means to say.

The man gently pressed on: “We should leave. People will soon come and questions will be asked.” His eyes wandered around and he thoughtfully bit his lips. “I do not like it when questions are asked. Come.” He offered Credence a hand. Remembering how Graves used to aparate with him, the black haired boy took a step back. How could he say this without seeming ungrateful or anger the stranger?

“Sir”, replied Credence hastily, making up some feeble excuse on the spot, “I dropped my luggage when I ran off.” It was not even an excuse he realised as he checked his back. He had really dropped his rucksack. The blonde man looked at him for a while. He then merely suggested: “Fine. Let’s get it then.” Credence sighed. That really was unnecessary. However seeing his saviour walk upstairs, he had no other choice but to follow this man. 

The way back did not take as long as the chase. After the heat of the run, Edinburgh yet again felt like a ghost town. The distance Credence had covered was not as long as he had imagined it to be. In fact they only had to walk for maybe fifteen minutes at most to reach the small alley in which the body snatchers had attacked Credence and the Obscurus had raked havoc. Nobody had come yet to remove the signs of the destruction.

The metal staircase had been deformed by the stones and pebbles and now laid in a twisted and unnatural spiral, half buried underneath the stones. These were forming a heap, which half ran into the large gorge the Obscurus had caused. Glass splinters laid on the floor, glittering in the shady sun. The large crack reached deep and seemed to be getting darker and darker the further it went one. It was shaped like a crude lightning. Between all these boulders a limp hand stuck out. Credence’s stomach turned over.

The blonde stranger seemed to take a great interest in this gash. Wearily, Credence watched him saunter alongside the crack. He was holding his arms behind his back and peered down at the crack. The black haired boy followed more hesitantly. The stones seemed to whisper “Murderer” at him from every angel of the street. Could there be such a thing as ghosts? Had the dead man come to haunt him? Credence was startled when the other one addressed him yet again.

“Seems whatever caused this gash is quite the thing.” He tilted his head and looked at the boy with the enigma of his mismatched eyes, black and blue. Credence swallowed. “Seems so”, he muttered, not bothering to look at the stranger. The interest of this man made him nervous. As he looked around, he spotted his rucksack, laying near the gash. Credence carefully leaned down to pick it up.

As he did so, the necklace Percival Graves had given him swung out of his collar and dangled down his neck. It was an odd thing. Shaped like a triangle, there was a circle and a vertical line in it. The necklace glistened in the air, a flash of sliver. When Credence took his luggage and rose again, he noticed the stranger look at the necklace with an odd look. The boy nervously took it and tugged it back underneath his shirt.

“Where did you get this?” The blonde man turned his back on him as he asked this question. 

Credence murmured shyly: “A friend gave it to me. It was a gift.”

“Have you been in Edinburgh for long?”

“Not very long, Sir.”

“No.” Turning his head over his shoulder, the stranger looked back at Credence. “Not very long indeed.” With the grace of a cat, he turned around. He sauntered towards Credence. His lips pulled into the hints of a smile. “Then I welcome you, Mister Barebone.” He took Credence’s luggage and softly placed it in the boy’s hands. “I predict your stay will be very profitable.”


	7. Bathilda Bagshot

The news that Gellert Grindelwald had escaped from MACUSA had spread like a wildfire. Everybody in the building was scattering and talking with hushed voices. Theories were exchanged over cups of coffee. One theory was more ludicrous then the next. Even in the Auror Central the rumours flew. Every Auror, even the ones that had barely finished their training, were up on their feet and talked as if they feared to be drowned in the sea of ideas and thoughts.

So many questions were unanswered. What would they do now? Where was Grindelwald? How had he escaped? Was he still in America? How were they going to find him again?

Porpentina was standing by the stature of a large, golden, bald eagle. It slowly turned its head around. The eyes were made of glass and enchanted in a way that allowed the Aurors to use it like a camera and monitored everything. Tina tried her best not to get caught up in the agitation of her co-workers. The excitement was like a drug, addictive but toxic. For Tina was sure: This was the worst possible way to react. Grindelwald was not somebody to be excited about. He was a danger!

But then what did the younger Aurors know about danger? For them, this was all new and exciting. Like the war of the Muggles had been. They had heard about it but no clear image of it. They had been told stories of Aurors who were glorious and noble and helped weaker people. It was such a romantic view and so distorted that they were regularly shocked when they entered the battlefield and were shot when they said they yielded.

Tina’s adventure with Newt had somehow cured her of this image. It had been a wakeup call of the most brutal kind. There was nothing romantic about being an Auror. You were facing death constantly, and as soon as you stood face to face with it, you became a child. There was no justice provided for you. There was no mercy when you said you yielded.

And Grindelwald was no storybook villain. He was not somebody you could just defeat with one spell and be done for. He was not going to wait for you to shoot him. He would trick and manipulate you. Mercy Lewis, he had fooled them all! And he kept fooling them! Had the Aurors no common sense? _ This is what Mister Graves must have thought countless times. Are we surrounded by idiots? _

Tina could not help it. As she looked over the odd group of people, made out of the stern seniors and the giddy juniors, her stomach twisted. They were horribly unprepared. Tina had seen what Grindelwald could do. Twice! He had managed to overpower twenty Aurors. Aurors, that were far superior in their skill compared to her. And for him this had all been child’s play!

A frustrated groan escaped the older Goldstein sister’s lips and she buried her face in her hands. “Bad mood, Teenie?” The woman looked up. Her sister stood before her. A blaze of spring and gold in this dull place. She held a tray with cupboard mugs in her hands. The coffee fumed from them. Noticing her, several other Aurors approached her and snatched a coffee, before they dissolved into groups again.

“Yes.” Tina took her coffee and sipped at it. “We are not prepared to face Grindelwald. I mean, you saw how he took out twenty of our most competent men. That was Picquery’s escort for Mercy Lewis’ sake! And he knocked them out like pebbles. It was child’s play for him.” She took a deep breath and gave an angry look around. “I am not surprised Graves was so grim when he came here.”

Queenie’s eyes flickered around. She responded: “Do not worry so much. I know Grindelwald’s actions have shaken you and you see things differently then them but Oates is a capable Auror. He will make sure that you find Grindelwald. Besides Picquery is respecting you again.” She gave her sister an affectionate smile. “Isn’t that what you have wanted all these months? To be a part of the investigation team again? To show that you can do it?”

Tina murmured: “Of course, Queenie. It is just… I was not expecting to become a part of the team in this way. I used to be a spy in the department. Not a fighter. I mean, I know how to fight. Do not get me wrong. It is just….” She shook her head and clenched her hands into fists helplessly as she fought for the words. “Grindelwald, you did not see what happened when I fought this man. You did not see what happened in the subway.” She  hung her head. Tears dropped down her nose.  _ I failed with Credence. Not once, but twice. He is dead because of me. I messed it up! Who says this is not going to happen again? And with Grindelwald, there is so much more at stake! I cannot look Picquery into the eyes when I fail again. I cannot look Oates in the eyes. I cannot look Graves in the eyes. _

Queenie placed the tray away. She knelt down and took Tina’s hands. “Porpentina Esther Goldstein, listen to me. You are a great Auror! You are better then this bunch over there. Graves trusts you. Heck, he hand-picked you and Oates as a team. He teamed you up with his successor because he knew you would be completing each other. MACUSA’s investigation department needs you. You have experienced Grindelwald’s power. You know how he is like. You survived him. And you can still fight. Do you realise how valuable this makes you?”

Tina looked at her sister. Her shoulders sank. “Thank you”, she breathed with a shaky smile, “I think I needed to hear that.”

Steps made them turn their head. Tobias Oates was coming downstairs. Halting before the Aurors who tried their best to look prepared and presentable, he explained: “Madam President and I discussed the cause on Gellert Grindelwald. By a hint of Miss Goldstein, we believe he escaped by using a spell we do not know much about yet. We also were reminded by her that Grindelwald is still wearing the tracking chains.”

The other Aurors looked at her and Tina found a blush creeping over her cheeks. She stared down at her shoes. Months of being invisible made all this attention rather awkward. Still Tina could not help but be filled with pride. She looked back at Oates as he continued with these grand gestures of his hand he was so well known for.

“Madam Picquery demands that we lead a patrol which locates the tracking chains and in the process hopefully Grindelwald or his last whereabouts to help us decide what to do next. I will lead the –“

“No, Mister Oates. I will lead the patrol!”

Seraphina Picquery, wearing her travelling cloak and jeans, walked downstairs. Scanning the group with one last critical look, she quickly selected several people, Tina among them, before she said: “Alright. Let’s locate those chains.”

Tina heard some Auror murmur behind her: “Picquery is gonna lead a patrol. Watch out for flying Erumpents.” She elbowed the man behind her for this before she followed the crew upstairs.

Picquery and twenty-plus Aurors flooded out of the Woolworth Building. Drawing out their wands, they cast a spell, which was supposed to help them locate the chains. For this, Tina laid her wand flat on her hand and muttered the incantation. The wand spun around like the needle of a compass. Finally it stopped, trembling and glowing. Tina closed her fingers around the wand, and she and the group headed towards the next streets. Taking turns and twists, they finally halted at their destination, out of a breath.

“A graveyard?!”, called the Auror who had complained already, “Whyyyyy?” 

Tina felt the incredible urge to punch the other man with the back of her hand so he would finally shut up.

The graveyard was a desolated place. A high iron fence, only interrupted by the gate, surrounded it and between bars, they could see black grass, bushes and a few elder trees, ashes and yews. Paths of grey cobblestones ran over the fields and the graves stood side by side.

Picquery looked back at the Aurors. She commanded: “Go in pairs. Search the graveyard. If you see anything suspicious, send a ray of red sparks into the sky.”

The other Aurors murmured half nervously, half excitedly before they scattered as they were told. Tina, not really sure whom to pick as a partner, was half pushed back and ended up turning around on the spot, hopping a few inches to look for anybody who might work with her.

“Miss Goldstein!”

Tobias Oates stood at the gate. He gave a slow jerk of the head. Tina blushed and her heart skipped a beat. She hurried over to the other man. “Terribly sorry, Sir”, apologised Tina, “I did not realise you had chosen me as a partner.” He merely said: “Director Graves has decided to team us up, Miss Goldstein. We might as well follow his wish.”

They walked over the main path before Oates branched off into a smaller path. Here were no cobblestones. Instead the path was made of dirt, having pressed hard and dry by countless steps. The thicket was stronger here. Tina had to dug under low hanging tree branches. Leaves rustled in the wind and under her feet. It was so cold that her breath formed white clouds before her lips.

Tina had taken out her wand and now used it like a pointer to push leaves and branches aside, peering into them. She was looking for any clue about the chains. A few rings, a glimmer of metal, maybe footprints. But she had to remember: It had been days, maybe even weeks since Gellert Grindelwald had escaped. The chance that they would find something was slim. Yet they had to try.

Oates walked ahead of her, doing the same thing. However he knelt down on occasions and ran his fingers over the ground, feeling for any unevenness in the ground. He would pull his fingers back, rub them together, sniff at them and mutter dismissive words. Tina always found it hypnotising to watch him work. While Graves almost always relied on his magic, Oates had a very physical way of working, connecting small and weird things with his mind to hypotheses. He of course could use magic, but he did it in the rarest cases.

Oates placed the half dirty hand on his knee. Looking up at Tina, he said while drawing air through his teeth: “This is gonna be a funny search. Grindelwald did hide that chain well. It is clearly not on this path. However he has been here before. Look at this dirt.” Oates showed Tina a few crumbs on the tip of his fingers. “It is very lose and fresh. As if boot soles have shaken it.”

“Did anyone else find anything?”, Oates inquired.

Peering around, Tina shook her head. She confessed: “I do not think they take this as seriously as they should.”

He gritted his teeth together. “They should.” He got up and they continued to walk. “Just because the team no longer really takes Picquery seriously, gives them no excuse to treat Grindelwald any less seriously.” They halted near a small grave, which stood half in a centre but also half isolated. The first thing that made Tina halt was the fact how clean the little grave looked compared to the others. The dust and dirt settling upon it seemed fairly fresh.

Oates noticed her look and gave her an encouraging nod. Tina rose her wand like an odd spear ready to strike down at any inconvenience. Her feet barely touched the ground as she approached the gravestone. It said Tamara Samantha Montgomery. There was an odd pile of leaves upon the floor close to the grave. Squinting her eyes, Tina bent down and with a wave of her wand cast a whirl of magic over it. The leaves floated in the wind and revealed something glimmering and shimmering like silver.

“Oates!”, yelled Tina over her shoulder, “Come and look at this.” She pushed and pulled and finally revealed a long silvery chain with two shackles. Or rather: She found two pieces of metal which if put together created a chain. Turning around at Oates with a beaming smile on her face, Tina presented him her find. “Bull’s Eye!”

Tobias’ face lit up. “Excellent work, Miss Goldstein.” He rose his wand and sent a firework of red sparks into the sky. Within seconds Tina heard the familiar pling and plop sounds as the Aurors apparated to her spot. Picquery pushed herself through the crowd. She stared at the chains. “Grindelwald was here”, she breathed, “But how on earth did he get the chains off without anybody realising it? The alarm should have sounded.”

Tobias took the chains from Tina and examined them. “Look at these edges”, he stated and brushed a thumb over them, “They are rough. Those have not been cut by magic. But by something else. Tina, look around. If we got luck, Grindelwald left whatever he used here.” Tina immediately complied. It did not take long for her to pull out a sharp file from a muddy ditch.

Picquery had a truly bizarre expression on her face as she stared at the file and the chains again and again. Lips parted, she seemed to have lost her ability to speak. In fact if Tina did not know it better, the President seemed to be devastated that she had been outwitted in such a simple way. It clearly must have been a stab in her pride.

However Picquery recovered quickly. “That settles it”, she stated, “Grindelwald clearly has left the country by now. Mister Oates and Miss Goldstein, you two will travel to England with a message from me for the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. The British Foreign Minister assured me that they would give us all the support we need. Well, now it’s time to get them up on the front. Grindelwald already has taken control over Eastern Europe. If his influence spreads, it could mean exposer. He could bring a global war upon us.”

***

“Do I look weird like this?”

Albus Dumbledore resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had lost count of the how many times Percival Graves had asked him this. With a gentle look towards the slightly older man, he reassured him: “You are looking fine, Mister Graves. Do not worry yourself too much.”

Percival Graves did not seem convinced. Sullen, he gazed upon the umbrella, whose handle he was holding tightly with his healthy hand. His broken leg hung besides him like a chunk of meat. The posture was tipped sideways and he seemed to be out of breath from the climb uphill.

Now they stood on the top of a small mountain and gazed down at a village underneath them. Albus felt his eyes wet a bit. He had not expected to come back to this place. Twenty years were a long time. And yet Godric’s Hollow looked surprisingly untouched from the invents of technology. No railway in the distance. Hardly any cars. Albus could still hear the snort of horses. From up here, the town looked like the ideal image out of a picture book with its red roofs, timid houses, small gardens and narrow streets.

“Why are we here again?” Percival Graves shifted the weight onto his healthy leg.

“Because”, explained Albus as they began to ascend from the hill, “there is somebody here who can provide us with information on Gellert Grindelwald. I wish to talk to them.”

“How do you know that?”

“I simply know.”

Albus headed for a small cottage with a few flower pots in its window sill. It stood opposite a house, which had a goat gnaw on grass, bound to a pick. Albus walked up to the door and knocked heavily upon it. Behind him, he could hear the shuffling and heavy breathing as Percival hobbled down the road to join him. Just as the Director reached him, the upper half of the door (which on further inspection happened to be two smaller doors on top of each other) opened.

The head of a small, middle-aged woman with long, brown hair and sunken eyes appeared. Traces of former beauty laid like a shadow on her facial features. “Who goes there?”, she asked. Her voice was raspy and hoarse as if it already died by the long age. Her head moved around like that of a bird. While Gellert always reminded Albus of a raven, Bathilda Bagshot resembled a blackbird more. She fixed her gaze upon him.

“Albus”, croaked the old lady, “Is that you?”

“Yes, it is me.”

“Merlin’s beard! You have grown!” Bathilda eyed him up and down with clear interest. The smile she gave him could appear creepy towards strangers, however her eyes were smiling along. Twinkling and shimmering, they seemed to laugh at you in an odd mischief.

Albus turned red under her look. “Yes”, he confessed, “It has been quite a while, hasn’t it? Can we come in?”

“Of course, of course!” Bathilda unlocked the lower part of her door and pushed it open. Gesturing with one wiry arm, she ushered them inside.

The house they entered gave you the feeling of being inside a burrow. Because Bathilda was such a small witch, all corridors were in a height that caused people like Graves and Albus to lower their heads in parts and dug a bit. The place was piled up with bookshelves and boxes in the most random corners. Ancient volumes on Arabic witches and wizards, on the development of voodoo, on broom and wand lore. Albus even spotted a book, which title looked suspiciously like it dealt with nothing more then the history of mushrooms in potions. Apart from the books, there were bellied vases, weird statures and potted plants, whose smell suffocated you.

Albus spotted the grey and already half blind cat of Bathilda, Cinderella, laying half asleep on a shelf. Upon noticing they had visitors, the cat opened her eyes. She acknowledged Albus with a feeble purr as if a wire was choking half of the sound back. “Hey, Cinder”, the red haired man whispered, remembering how lively and curious she had been almost twenty years ago, “You must be almost as old as your owner by now.”

Graves had hobbled past Albus and dropped himself into the chair in the small, equally crammed up living room. “I am awfully sorry, it is so untidy in here.” Bathilda waved her wand and with clear, precise spells she dusted off the chairs and tables, refolded the tablecloth and laid out the dishes. “I was not expecting any guests, you must know. Can I offer you anything? You must be thirsty from travel.”

“Do you have coffee?”, Graves asked.

“I am sorry, Sir, but I do not drink coffee. Though I can give you a cup of black tea if you like?”

Graves grumbled something which seemed to be a mumbled agreement. Bathilda nodded. “Albus, dear”, she inquired, “Could you maybe help me with preparing the tea? I cannot reach the pot.”

“But –”

She gave him such an odd look that he knew not to protest.

“Of course.” Albus followed Bathilda into the kitchen. He had to push a few bundles of herbs away, which were bound together by strings and hung from the ceiling. His hostess was busily moving through the kitchen as she filled a teapot with water. Then something odd happened. As the water cooked, Bathilda moved the lid in a way that created an annoyingly sharp hissing tone. That tone hurt in the ears and blocked out any sounds outside. Bathilda placed the kettle next to the door to the living room.

As she turned around, her gentle demeanour dropped. The submissive woman was replaced by a headstrong lady, who with crossed arms stared at Albus in a way that eerily copied the plotting-and-scheming glance of Gellert. Could it be that intelligence run in the family Grindelwald? For it was clear: Bathilda had only placed the kettle there to make sure Graves could not hear a word that was spoken in the kitchen.

“Alright, Albus”, Bathilda got to the point at once, “What is the meaning of this? You come back after twenty years. You appear before my house out of nowhere, and you bring a ministry _official_ into my private rooms. I already told you my stance on these events. I have been trying to lay low and keep out of everything. And now you show up and bring a hunter of my nephew into my house!”

Her fire was so much like Gellert’s it hurt. Albus rose his hands and took a deep breath. “Look, Bathilda”, he began, “Before you make your judgement, listen to me. I did not bring Percival Graves to harm you in any way. If you have looked closely, you will have noticed that he is injured badly. He cannot really do much. He is not here to arrest you, trust me. I still brought him here, because we have questions. He is helping me. We are trying to find things out about Gellert. I hoped, you could help us.”

The fire retreated barely into her eyes. Bathilda gazed outside of the window. In the milky glass they could see the familiar house that Albus had not entered for twenty years. The place he had called home and where his future had been decided. His and that of many others. Summer 1899. Now it felt more as if Albus had approached a pro-longed autumn and dreaded the approach of the winter for he did not know if a spring would follow.

“You have come to the wrong person, Albus”, confessed Bathilda, “I cannot help you.”

“I am not asking for much. Just a detail or two. It can even be completely trivial.”

“Gellert is my nephew. I love him more then anything in this world. I know, people condemn him for what he does. And I know how brutal changes always occur. But still, in my heart he will always be that young boy, sitting on my knee and asking me to explain the world to him...” It seemed as if she wanted to say more but her voice choked. Tears glittered in her eyes. Her body shook.

Albus quickly caught her trembling, old, wiry hands. Taking a napkin, he softly dried her eyes. “Bathilda, I know how you feel. I understand. You do not have to talk about Gellert if you do not want to.” He thought for a moment. “Just allow me to have a look at his room. I am not going to change anything. I promise. I will just look around. I do not want more.”

Bathilda gave him a long, thoughtful look. It almost seemed as if she was considering if she could trust him. Finally the old lady nodded her head. “Very well then”, she said, “You know where his room is. It is just upstairs. I have not touched it in twenty years.” She picked up the pot and carried it into her kitchen. Albus slowly followed. “Thank you, Bathilda”, he murmured and headed for the stairs.

“Come back when you are done!” Bathilda placed the kettle down. She waved her wand and summoned two cups. Percival pulled his chair closer. “Where is he going?”, he asked and his eyes followed Albus. “Nowhere important”, lied Bathilda. She poured them the tea.

“Milk?”, the older woman inquired, “Sugar?” Percival looked back at her. His look was stern and that of an inquisitor. Bathilda kept the same stern look. She did not blink once. She was used to be stared in the eyes as Grindelwald’s father would sometimes stare her down if he disagreed with something. 

“You are lieing”, said Graves, “What is going on here?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Bathilda slowly sat down. Lowering her head, the messy hair almost hid her face as she started to sip her tea. Percival huffed, half showing his teeth. He turned his face away. For a while none of them spoke a word. Percival let his gaze wander around. However as he did so, Bathilda did not lower her guard. Even though it seemed so.

Her living room did not have much to offer. It looked like any old lady’s room with its potted plants and bookshelves. There was only one remarkable item in this mess. It was standing on the top of the shelf by the window. A framed painting, already brownish in age. It depicted a young man with a handsome face, combed, brown hair and a pair of mismatched eyes. Feeling watched, the figure slowly turned his head with a catlike grace.

“Who is that man?”, asked Percival.

Bathilda stirred her tea. “My nephew”, she replied.

“Where is he now?”

“Out there in the world.” She seemed to stare into a void. “Doing good.”

***

Gellert Grindelwald’s bedroom laid just upstairs above the living room. The door creaked quietly as Albus pushed it open. Apparently it had not been cleaned in a long time. The red haired Professor carefully slipped into the room. It felt strange. Dust and cobwebs had settled everywhere. Twenty years apart. 1899 was breathing at him through every corner. How close the past could seem! As if it had only been yesterday.

For a brief moment Albus feared his knees would give in. Hands, intertwining with his fingers. Words, whispered against his ear. Lips on his skin. And the flash in his eyes when their debates became lively and heated up. Albus laid a hand on his chest and gasped. His heart beat fast. He tried to shake off the memories. There was no time to dwell on the past. He had to remember why he was here. To find any clues on Gellert Grindelwald’s past. Anything the other one had not told him. But where to start?

Albus slowly stepped into the middle of the room. Its walls were of a white tone, though already greyish from age. The wooden floor groaned under his feet. The bed stood in one corner next to the door. Large with a deep red, fluffy blanket over it. Albus remembered how he and Gellert would sometimes play games and roll each other in the blanket like a burrito, cuddling together like two kittens and feeding each other snacks. Those had been happy times, better times.

On the other side of the door and the left side opposite the bed stood a large shelf full of books. Albus threw a short look at the table near the window, before he decided to approach the shelf first. His long fingers tentatively ran over the wood and wandered over the covers of the book. They were of leather and already worn down, smooth to the touch. Titles in gold, brown, black and red stamped into them.

Albus quietly read out aloud: “ _ Curses and Counter-Curses _ ,  _ Warlocks of the 14 _ _ th _ _ Century _ ,  _ The History of the Black Market: From 18 _ _ th _ _ until today _ ,  _ Wand Lore: An Analysis of Woods and Cores _ , T _ he Grim: Being Prepared for the Unprepared _ ,  _ Tarot Reading For Beginners _ ,  _ The Grimm’s Fairy Tales _ .” He halted in confusion at two books at the end of the line. They were larger and a bit heavier then most of the books (with  _ Curses and Counter-Curses _ being an exception). Curiosity overcame Albus, and he pulled the two volumes out. Carefully carrying them to the table, he placed them down to have a proper look.

The first book was of deep blue leather. Its cover was full of white lines forming lilies and curls and edges, pedals of roses and leaves of  ash trees . In the middle, it said in elegant letters:  _ The Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson _ . Albus blinked.  _ That is a Muggle Author. _ Gripped by sheer inquisitiveness, Albus flung the volume open. The pages were yellowish from age and felt like velvet against his fingers. Their was a small preface, written in ink upon the first page.

It said:

_Dear Gellert,_

_ I hope you will enjoy this collection of stories. I know, Stevenson may not be a wizard, but his stories might excite you nonetheless. They are full of murder, mystery, magic and most of all morbidity. I am sure, there will be something for your taste. My best wishes  _ _ for _ _ your 14 _ _ th _ _ birthday. _

_Lots of love,_

_your Aunt Bathilda_

Albus’ eyes widened. He flipped through more pages. Notes in Gellert’s sharp, but accurate handwriting greeted him. He had written his thoughts to each story down, had made assumptions, underlined words or marked even whole paragraphs. Most of the notes contained of nothing but questions or exclamation marks. Some were something that looked like the vague idea for a spell.

Albus could not help it. He was fascinated by what he had found out. Gellert was using stories that had no magic in them to get ideas for spells. And he clearly seemed to enjoy the stories as some notes merely were a statement like  _ I would have done the same _ or  _ Serves them right _ . Slowly closing the Stevenson book, Albus picked up the other one.

It was having a white cover and red lines, equally shaping symbols of stones, swords, fangs and eyes. The Professor was not even surprised when he learned that this book contained _Dracula & Several Short Stories_ _by Bram Stoker_. This anthology too had been a gift by Bathilda and was equally full of notes and thoughts and ideas. Though this one had been given during his fifteenth birthday.

Albus could not help but smile. How curious Gellert was! How invested he seemed in all these books. How much he enjoyed Muggles and their culture! It felt almost bizarre to him. Albus had always assumed Gellert despised Muggles. He had once asked for the reason but the other one had not really replied, merely grumbled it was personal. Albus, having seen that the subject pained his lover, had immediately dropped it at once.

Now that he stood near the writing desk, he decided to have a look around this one as well. The desk was made of a solid, dark brown wood. There were several drawers on one side. Albus carefully took a hold of the first one and pulled at it. It was firmly locked. The Professor checked the second and the third one as well. They too were locked, however the third drawer seemed to have been locked half-heartedly. Albus had to pull several times, before finally, under groans and moans, the wood gave in and the drawer opened itself.

A stack of papers bulged towards him. Albus took a cautious step back. It seemed as if whatever this drawer contained, Gellert had stuffed it hastily in and shut the drawer with great force. The Professor carefully took the papers out to see what they contained. Shuffling through them, he quickly recognised the elegant, almost artful handwriting. This was _his_ handwriting. These were _his_ letters.

Gellert had not taken them with him. Albus felt an odd pang in his stomach. What was this feeling? Sadness? Shame? Had he had the vague hope that Gellert might have taken those letters with him? In the hope that his friend remembered him as fondly as he did? It did not seem so. Albus kept shuffling through the letters. It took him a few seconds of blankly starring at dates, before he noticed a certain irregularity of them.

Some of these letters were missing! Albus’ eyes widened in excitement. He placed the letters onto the table and carefully skimmed over them. Which letters were missing? And why were they missing? Had Gellert taken them with him and not told anybody? Or had someone else stolen them? It seemed unlikely. After all, according to Bathilda, nobody had been in here for years.

Albus sighed and brushed his fingers through his auburn hair. No matter how hard he thought, he could not recall which letters might be missing. The two months they had known each other had been so long ago. While Albus still remembered the main events with clear perspicuity, he struggled with the details. These were milky like watched through fog or toned glass.

Albus’ hand quivered near the letters. He was tempted to take them. But could he do that? These letters after all were not really his property. He may have written them, but they were rightfully Gellert’s. Still, if the blonde man had wanted to prevent the letters to be taken, he surely would have taken them with him. But then Gellert did not know of the intruder in his room. And maybe, just maybe he found some hidden clue if he relived this fateful summer of 1899.

Albus looked around almost as if he expected Gellert to come out of the corners of the room, point at him and proclaim him a thief. His gaze rested on the shadows. The Professor knew of his friend’s magical tricks surrounding them. Thus whenever he noticed a shadow he could not help but remember him. Gellert was always there. In the smallest things. Oh, if Albus could only remove the small details that made him remember his biggest sin and flaw!

Shaking his head, Albus shoved the letters back together into a massive pile. He looked back into the drawers in search for an item, he could use for transporting his find. He got lucky. There was a leather folder on the bottom. Albus took it and placed the letters inside. Knotting the strings together, he could not help but feel watched yet again.

But the only things that could watch him now were the stuffed crow, leaning against the window sill, the Dixie, drenched in alcohol,  in her glass jar and the small skeleton of a vampire bat, hanging from the ceiling. The dead eyes stared at him and seemed to whisper:  _ Thief, thief, thief. Place back what does not belong to you. Thief, thief, thief! _ The accusation made Albus almost uncomfortable, even though he knew nobody was there. Still, he knew that people hardly appreciated it when somebody sneaked around and stole things, stole secrets from  them . Why should Gellert be any different?

Albus snatched the two books and the folder with letters, before he positively hurried out of the room, which breathed so much of the past.

***

Hurrying downstairs, Albus found Graves and Bathilda sitting together by the table. Percival slowly rose a brow at him. “There you are”, he remarked, “I was wondering why you had disappeared all of a sudden. What have you been doing, and where have you been?”

“I, ehm, have been examining one of the rooms.” Without really looking at Percival, Albus presented the books upon the table. “Bathilda, can you tell me anything about these books? Why does _he_ have them?” He could feel Graves’ eyes rest upon him when he asked that question, and even though he did not look back, he could almost feel the  judgemental gaze bury into his skin.

Percival used his healthy hand to take one of the books by its edge and pull it towards him. Opening it, he began to read. Bathilda leaned closer to Albus as she replied: “His parents asked me to help them. You see, he had read all his children stories and they did not want to give him their books yet. Found them too scary and complex for him. So they asked if I could find him anything he might read.”

Graves shut the book and huffed: “Why did you pick a Muggle author? Nothing against these people, mind you, it is just: We have so many good wizard authors, you being among them. Why not pick one of them?”

“I honestly could care less whether a book was written by a Muggle or a wizard, Mister Graves”, defended Bathilda her choice, “If it is a good book, I will buy it, simple as that. And well, I knew of his favourite tales, so I knew what I had to look for. Stevenson and Stoker seemed to be the perfect fit for him.”

Graves huffed. “Yeah, right! Professor, why precisely did you bring these books down in the first place? I thought, we had come here to look for clues about Gellert Grindelwald’s past! What do books have to do with it?” He jabbed a finger at Bathilda. “Shouldn’t we be questioning her?”

Albus rose a hand to calm him down. “Mister Graves”, he responded, “Do not judge a book by its cover. The interests of a person, even the smallest ones, can say a lot about them.” He searched in his cloak and pulled out a little tin box. Opening it, he showed them a little, yellowish candy. “I myself am very fond of this Muggle sweet. It is called lemon drops. What does this tell you about me, Mister Graves? That I am curious about the culture of these people.” He placed the drop on his tongue and softly started to suck on it. Offering the tin to Graves and Bathilda, they politely declined.

Percival huffed. “Fine, Professor Dumbledore”, he responded and jerked his head towards the two books, “Do enlighten me with your wisdom! What do these books tell us about Grindelwald?”

“It tells us about the fact”, said Albus, “that he himself is interested in Muggle culture. Or well, in a certain aspect of it. It tells us about the fact that he enjoys the darker sides of life. That he is questioning how we think and feel. He questions what is seen as human and inhuman. He questions how justice works and who has the right to apply it.”

“Or he is just a person with an extremely disgusting fantasy. I mean, have you read some of this stuff in there? I skimmed through a few things, and by God, is it nasty! A woman, getting eaten by rats. A boy, hung by a bell’s rope in a judge’s house. A Suicide Club. Clearly Grindelwald cannot be right in his head. Though it would surprise me if he was, this monster” There was a look of pure contempt on his face.

Bathilda’s eyes narrowed like that of a cat. She barely rose her voice and yet there was a sharpness and anger in her tone, one could fear she would scratch somebody’s eyes out. “Mister Graves”, she whispered, “With all due respect, I will not tolerate such a language in my own house. I have let you in here, even though I turned away anybody else that came by. I have allowed both of you to search my nephew’s personal belongings without a search warrant. I have been willing to answer your questions. I am not obliged to do these things. Do not make me regret my choice or I will obliviate any knowledge you learned from your brain! And don’t think for one second I won’t.”

“Of course, Bathilda”, replied Albus and threw a look of disapproval at Graves, “I am sure, Mister Graves is very sorry for what he said and did not mean it. We are honoured and humbled that you allow us access to these pieces of information, and we would not dare to intrude upon your hospitality more then necessary. I believe, there is nothing more that we can find out here. If you insist, we shall trouble you no more. Allow us to take our leave.”

He had bowed his head in grave respect at her. His gesture and words seemed to calm Bathilda down, for the old lady said: “Always perfect manners and such a gentleman. You are still so much like I remember you, Albus. And trust me, if it had not been for you, I would have sent your rude partner out in the snow and might have given him a smack over the head with my kettle.” She rose and nodded to the door. “I wish you best of luck with the continuation of your search.”

***

Bathilda Bagshot slowly closed and locked both doors of her house after Albus Dumbledore and Percival Graves had left her. With a deep sigh and heavy steps, she made her way back to the living room. Dropping into her chair, she closed her eyes and slowly rubbed her temples.

She was not sure how to feel about this whole affair. As much joy as it had brought her joy to see Albus again after all these years, the timing could not have been more inappropriate. Godric’s Hollow might seem untouched from the outside world with how hidden it lay in its valley, but that did not mean news did not reach them. And news as dark and dangerous as Grindelwald’s continuous raise to power were something that reached the villagers indeed.

Bathilda was thorn. On one side she deeply cared and loved her nephew above everything else. Of course, she was aware of the crimes of his youth and the fire of his passion, so his development did not come as a surprise for her. Most people frowned upon Grindelwald, even the Headmistress of Durmstrang had been greatly disappointed by what he had done.

Still, Bathilda could not help but congratulate Gellert on how creative he was. He had respect for magic in ways that many people had forgotten. This might be why the types of magic considered evil and vile were drawn so easily to him. He had made them his playmates and friends. And Bathilda knew that Gellert might endanger many people in his work, however he himself was never in danger when it came to the use of magic.

However there was also the problem of the Greater Good. While Bathilda found the idea in itself a noble one, she also knew that the change Gellert desired could not easily be achieved. Not by normal means. Not with the speed he pictured this all to work out. Change did not work this way. And neither did revolution. For revolution was characterised by one necessary mean.

It was the one tool that always came with change and war, that burned in man’s guts ready to burst out: Violence. Bloody, raw violence. Civilisation was nothing more then a thin cover. Deep down humans were animals. Sometimes Bathilda was ashamed of this fact. It made her feel bad about having Gellert for a nephew, even though her parental love always wiped out that feeling.

Still denying the thread Gellert posed was like pretending to be blind. And Bathilda could argue that she understood him better then most people. There was a system behind everything her nephew did. He had the cunning of the Grindelwalds deep inside him, and he orchestrated a war in ways the Wizarding World was not used to and could not handle.

Thus Albus having come and asking about him was troubling indeed. Parts of Bathilda still wanted to protect her nephew almost stubbornly, but she also knew she had a duty towards her wizarding community. The situation was helpless indeed.

“You do not like this, do you?”

Bathilda turned her head. The small portrait of Grindelwald had spoken. It stood on the shelf by a few books. Gellert slowly turned his youthful face towards her. His stern look could skin you. Gellert’s lips were pulled into a thin line, corners going upside down.

With a sigh, the historian picked up the frame gently and placed it on the table. She ran her fingers over it. “No”, confessed Bathilda, “I do not like this at all. I fear what the future holds, Gellert. I know you. You are so incredibly stubborn, always wanting to be in the right. I fear how far you will go for your Greater Good.” Albus had just brought this fight a bit too close to home for her liking.

He crossed his arms before his chest. “I know, Batty”, said Gellert, “However I do not fear so much for the future as for Albus. I saw him and you did too. He may have become older, but in his heart, he has not changed at all. I know him! Once he got his head set on something, he will do whatever he can to achieve it. He is not going to stop anytime soon. He will try to find out everything about me. This could mean great trouble. For if I know anything about myself, it is this: I do not like people digging around in my secrets. And if I do not like somebody, well...” He fell silent and merely made a move with his hand as if he cut somebody’s throat.

 


	8. Reality's Cruel and Full of Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably one of the first really dark ones. It may have a few moments of hilerity, but it also is very brutal. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As usual kudos and comments would make me very happy.  
> Lots of love, Miss T  
> PS: Grindelwald's German phrases are translated at the end of the chapter.

There was one room in the Department of Mysteries that was more horrendous then any other room. It was located directly underneath the Auror Department and used by two government sections in tune. One of them were the Unspeakables, a group of Ministery workers that dealt with curses and tactic so dark and forbidden that they were not allowed to talk to anybody about what they did. The other group was a very, very selected group of Aurors, almost always former Unspeakables.

This room was a beige stone hall. Chains hang from the wall and there was a table, on which stood several sharp and nasty looking instruments, ready for use. A man had been tied to a chair with a towel over his head. Two men stood besides him. One of them held a bottle of water and poured the liquid over the man’s face. Under the quiet whispers of the rushing water, one could hear gurgling noises and the man struggled in his bindings.

The person that stood behind the interrogated was a wiry man with dark grey hair and eyes stormy like that of a haw. There was something menacing in his look, which seemed to be created by the thin lips, the brittle moustache and his hooked nose. He wore a dark, military-like uniform with boots and a pair of leather gloves.

Staring down at the man who struggled under the flow of water, he waited for a few more minutes before he made a gesture with his hand. The bottle was placed away. With pointy fingers, the older Auror took a hold of the wet towel and carefully pulled it away from the man’s face. He revealed sore, reddish eyes and a trembling mouth, which spat out water. The man gasped for air as if he feared it would be cut away from him way too quickly.

The Auror leaned forwards so that his grey eyes locked with the frightened of the other man. His voice was barely above a whisper: “Where is Gellert Grindelwald?”

The other man wheezed out his reply: “I will never tell. For the Greater Good… I won’t tell.”

“Do spare me your leader’s philosophy”, responded the Auror, “It is nothing more then blasphemy. With his words, he makes anybody who helps him a traitor of his respective state. Minister Fawley may not act but I know, he cannot have this. So once again, where is Grindelwald?”

“You will burn in hell for your crimes!”, snarled the separatist.

A chuckle followed from his opponent’s side. It almost sounded like a mixture of amusement and pity. “Oh, I may”, responded the Auror, “However you will get there sooner.” With these words, he slowly took out a device, which was shaped like a very strange, metal flower. In its centre was a sharp, thick hook. Placing the item upon the Fanatic’s mouth, the Auror pushed down the device.

There was a gurgling, painful scream and the strong smell of blood. Under him, the body convulsed as if it wanted to trash, before after one final buckling over the Fanatics collapsed in his bindings. A red trail smeared down his lips and his eyes were broken in their caves.

The Auror walked towards a sink to clean his device. As he did so, he addressed his helper: “Take him away.” “Yes, Mister Toppclife.” The Auror clipped a polite bow, before he cut the bindings. Summoning a stretcher, he heaved the body upon it and left the room.

Richard Toppclife was not just any Auror. He was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement and the Ministry’s Chief Interrogator. It was his task to break the most stubborn and brutal of criminals. And thus as soon as he had learned of Gellert Grindelwald, he had known that this was the kind of man he had yearned to hunt and destroy all his life. He was not out for glory like the younger Aurors. Having been an Unspeakable, before he had been promoted towards the position of Chief Interrogator, he had seen what ugly and terrifying results dark magic could have. This had made him vow that he would find the worst of the worst and destroy them, for no wizard should ever be able to use such horrendous spells against another human being.

Richard had just finished cleaning the flower when the door opened again and another Auror rushed into the room. He clipped a bow. “Mister Toppclife”, he called, “A letter from MACUSA for you.” Richard took the letter and broke open the seal. Unfolding it, he read that a group of Aurors would come to the United Kingdom to aid them in their search, because Grindelwald had escaped his cells.

Toppclife thrust the letter back into the messenger’s hand. “Do make sure that everything is ready for our guests.”

This was too good to be true.

***

The apparation sent a jolt through his guts. Credence gasped and panted as his feet hit solid ground. The whole world still seemed to spin around him. It took a while for his mind to catch up with his body. “Where are we?”, slurred Credence like a half-drunk man and looked around.

They were standing in a narrow street in a part of the town that smelled of the ugly side of modernity. The stones and walls were just as darkened as the houses of Edinburgh. Smoke from a nearby factory blackened the sky. The snort of a horse as a cab hurried past them in the main street. The honking of a car. Credence blinked at the sight of gas lamps.

Before them was their destination: A pastry shop, above which seemed to be a flat. The windows were darkened. Still the place seemed to be inhabited by probably one person. The blonde man let go of Credence’s hand and as he walked forwards, answered the question: “We are in London. East End.” Credence’s jaw dropped. He had known Graves could move them really far, really quickly. But never before had he travelled this far with an apparation. Might explain why his stomach revolted so much.

He hurried after his blonde saviour. Inside of the pastry shop, it was comfortably warm and smelled of baked goods. A lady with frizz, red air stood at the counter and was busily chopping meat into stripes, dropping them into a pot of some boiling gravy. She looked up when they entered.

“This is the second time today you bring somebody into the flat, Grimmwood.”, the woman remarked. Apparently she owned the store and the flat above it.

Grimmwood smiled apologetically. “Forgive me, Mrs Smith. I promise this will be the last case”, he said, “I will pay any extra money he needs when it comes to my rent. And when have I ever failed to pay my rent?”

“You never did, Grimmwood. Still your rent is calculated for one person. Not three.”

“I know. As I said, I will pay any more money I need.”

Credence blinked in confusion. What was going on here? Whom had this Grimmwood taken in? It did not seem as if Mrs Smith was particularly mad, but she seemed to be a bit suspicious about her guest’s sudden taking in of guests. However the woman merely returned back to her work and waved them towards a staircase behind the counter.

“Whom have you taken in, Grimmwood?”, asked Credence as he hurried after the blonde man. The other one stopped by a small door. Looking back at Credence, he smiled. “You will see this soon enough. And I have the belief it will make you very happy.”

_ Happy? How so? _ Credence followed Grimmwood into the apartment. It was a small place, located in the attic. Living room and kitchen seemed to be existing side by side. Through windows in the roof came brown light. It shone upon a neatly furnished room. Grimmwood had stopped by a chair and was busily pushing o f f his cloak. He looked to a door, which as Credence later learned was the one for the bedroom, and called: “Modesty! I am home!”

Credence almost stumbled over his own feet at these words. Modesty. That word alone caused his stomach to cramp in longing. His little sister. How could he have forgotten her?! Ever since the black thing had engulfed him, he had feared he had killed her. How he had wanted to search for her! But America had become a dangerous place. And thus he had to leave the one person, whom he cared about the most.

It could not be her! It had to be a coincidence. Nothing more. And yet Credence felt himself rooted to the spot as he stood there, staring at the door and hoping against all hopes. The small figure that came out of the bedroom made his heart jump in his throats. It was as if she had been raised from the dead. Her hair was still as flaxen and fair as he remembered, and her stoic face broke as she laid lapis-lazuli eyes on him.

“Credence...” Modesty’s voice trembled. She stared at him as if she could not believe her own eyes. Credence carefully knelt down to calm her. “Modesty...”, he responded. However before he could say anything else, his sister rushed over to him and arms closed around him in a hug. The lithe, small body against his, the familiar smell and warmth almost broke Credence. He could feel salty tears on his cheeks. Modesty was crying.

“You are alive”, she repeated the words like a Matrah as if stopping them would make him disappear, “You are alive, you are alive, you are alive!” Her body shook from her sobs. It startled Credence. So often Modesty had been the unshaken one, the one that had grounded and protected him from the Ma. Sometimes Credence forgot that she was merely a ten year old girl.

“Yes, Modesty”, Credence whispered and wrapped his arms around her, holding her thigh, “It is me, Credence. I am alive. I am so, so sorry.” He felt his words choke in his throat as he too broke out in sobs. “I would have come for you. I promise! It was just… So much happened. By God, and you were alone all the time! How could I have done this to you?”

Credence barely parted from her. He rubbed over his eyes with the palm of his hand. He felt stupid, useless, and he was angry with himself. How often had Credence hated his lot! How often had he wished that anybody else would feel the misery he endured! How often had he wished somebody saw him. Me, me, me! It had always been me! Never for once in his life had he thought about anybody else!

He had been so incredibly selfish! Modesty had helped him from the first day she had been adopted. She somehow had always known when he needed her comfort the most. And how had  he  repaid all this generosity?  He had not come for her. He had not even bothered to find her!  _ Great! You must have been a lovely brother for her, Credence! _ He could have hit his head in his frustration. 

How long had she been all alone? And what would she have done if Grimmwood had not found her?

Credence sighed and stepped back. Looking Modesty over, he asked: “Are you alright? You are not hurt, or something? I should have come for you!” His hands ran over her face and sides and Modesty caught his palms in a gentle and secure grip.

“Credence”, Modesty said, “Calm down. I am alright. I am not hurt. I managed to fend for myself. Grindelwald found me. And we found you! Everything is alright. I am more glad that you are alive. I had feared that the Obscurus had killed you.”

Grindelwald. The name sounded familiar, however Credence could not tell where he had heard it before.

“Obscurus?” Credence repeated the word like a foreigner saying an unfamiliar term for the first time.

“It is this black being inside of you.” Grimmwood leaned over the back of the chair, arms crossed. Looking at both children, he explained: “It is a repressed form of magic, Credence. Very dangerous and destructive when it breaks out. Most children do not survive with an Obscurus in them for a long time.” He cocked his head. “You have achieved the impossible. My respect.”

Modesty looked back at Grimmwood. Her face was beaming, something which rarely happened. “You did it”, she stammered, “You found him, Mister Grindelwald. Like you said you would.”

His lips slowly pulled into the hints of an eerie, affectionate smile. “I am a man of my word.” Rising a bit, Grindelwald drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “Make yourself at home”, he addressed them, “You are safe here. And you can stay here as long as you want. I will protect you.”

He drew out his wand. Credence had seen Graves’ wand before. It had been a black, elegant thing, decorated with a few rings of silver, smooth and a bit heavy. The wand Grindelwald owned was different. A bit shorter and going thinner at the tip. It was decorated with knots along the shaft. The wand smelled like dead leaves in autumn. It caused a strange fascination in Credence like a dancing ermine did to a rabbit.

That fascination was quickly overtaken by a sense of awe as Grindelwald swung the wand and made plates appear out off a cupboard. They circled in mid-air, before they landed on their designated spots. Forks and knives followed. “I am sadly not the best when it comes to cooking spells”, confessed Grindelwald as he slowly levitated a large bowl with fuming tomato soup to the children and two loafs of bread, “I hope this will suffice.”

Credence’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the sight of the soup. Mary Lou had only been able to supply them with a simple brew made out of onions, garlic and roasted bread squares. Vegetable, fruits or – God forbid! – meat had hardly ever been a part of their diet. Thus this simple, hot tomato soup felt like a luxury for Credence. Even the bread looked soft and warm as if it had been freshly baked.

Credence and Modesty had taken their fair share of the food, however they did not yet touch the plates. Grindelwald cocked his head at them. “Don’t you like the food?”, he asked.

“No”, said Modesty, “It is just… At our home, Ma used to pray before we ate anything.”

“You don’t have to –” Seeing their shocked faces, Grindelwald stopped and took a deep breath. “Listen”, he began again, “It is not required of you to pray here. However if you want to do it, feel free to do so. But do not expect me to join in.”

Credence felt his shoulders slack when Modesty folded her hands and while fixing the tablecloth, began to utter the so familiar prayer: “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful. For what we are about to receive, let us truly be grateful.” “Amen.” The familiar monotony of the word made Credence feel truly be at easy.

Only then did he start to eat the tomato soup. As soon as the deep flavour touched his tongue, Credence felt himself tear up. He never had eaten anything so rich and delicious. Compared to the bread brew, this was a firework of flavours, one better, then the next. Credence could feel a moan creep over his lips. He savoured each spoonful carefully, trying to hold that wonderful aroma as long as possible.

They ate in silence, content with each other’s company. Credence after a while tried what Modesty had been doing almost since the meal started. He dipped the bread into the soup and then ate it. His pupils widened and trembled. Soup alone already tasted great. But tomato soup  _ and _ bread? That was the crown of the creation. That was a wonderful mix of deep, rich, fruity tomato flavour and that soft sweetness of the bread.  That was the greatest meal he had ever tasted!

Credence threw a fast look at Modesty. His sister looked at ease, something he had hardly ever seen her be! And was that a smile at the corner of her lips? A genuine, happy smile? Credence could not believe his eyes. However seeing his sister so happy, made him calm down instantly. Credence had learned that Modesty usually had a good feeling for when things would turn dangerous. Her presence grounded him in a way only Percival Graves had done afterwards.

Credence looked at Grindelwald. The blonde man sat there, haunched over and was slowly and cautiously eating his soup. He was still a great enigma towards Credence, however he had offered them shelter and food. This could only be good, right? Surely, this would not end up like the situation had done with Graves! Credence would not let it. If there was any sign Grindelwald wanted to do them harm, he would show him! He would not let Modesty be in danger. But maybe all his worries were unnecessary. Yes, all his worry definitely was unnecessary!

After the food, Grindelwald lead them to the bedrooms. Credence’s eyes were drawn to the two beds like a magnet. They were larger then the ones they used to have at Mary Lou’s, and they looked so  _ soft _ ! The pillow had been shaken and puffed up, and the blanket was neatly folded. The beige colours smelled of wash powder. Credence turned his head towards Grindelwald. “We… we are going to sleep here?!”, he stammered, giddy in excitement.

“Yes.” Grindelwald smiled and slowly nodded his head. “You can sleep here. I wish you a good night.” He stepped away to give them their space. 

Modesty and Credence had no pyjamas. They just threw themselves on the beds. “This feels so, so great!”, called Modesty, “It is like you are laying on a cloud.  So fluffy. ”  She squealed in laughter and waved her hands over the mattress. Credence laughed as he gazed up at the ceiling. A blissful smile was on his face. 

When he had come to England, he had no idea how things would continue now. If he found food or shelter. And he had never dreamed of being reunited with his sister!

“Credence”, asked Modesty and turned her head to look at him, “Are we save now? Do you think Grindelwald will allow us to stay? Do we have a… home?”

Home. The word sounded so foreign and strange. Full of hope and fears. The last place Credence had to call home for most of his life had been a ditch of misery. He had lived in constant fear and surveillance. Grindelwald however seemed to offer him something more secure and safe. A place to rest. A place, where he had food and drink. It seemed to be almost perfect.

And still… Credence could not help but feel worried. The last time he had trusted somebody blindly, he had paid bitterly for it. Percival Graves had seemed different from the rest. Strong and honest with a sense of vigilance and justice. He had been different. He had felt like a friend. Credence had felt sheltered and taken care off in his presence. He had thought that he had finally found an angel, who could save him from the hell he was in.

But that angel had proven to be a devil in disguise! Credence had thought that the world was simple. There were good people and there were bad people. That was what Mary Lou had thaught him. Christians good, witches and wizards bad. He had applied this black and white thinking to everything he had done. And then Graves had come and had betrayed him! But he had seemed like a good person! How could a good person be a bad person? It did not make sense.

Thus Credence was wary of Grindelwald. There had been something in his look he could not really pin down. Something wanting. But what? Did Grindelwald want something from him? Did he plan on using him like Graves did? Or was he indeed worried for him and wished for his best? No matter how much Credence searched in him, he could not find an answer.

However he did not plan on telling Modesty any of his fears and doubts. Instead he said: “Yes, Modesty. We have found a home. It will be fine. Don’t worry.”

He could hear his sister yawn and the rustling of a blanket as she curled up in it like a small burrito. In the warm darkness of the room, Credence could barely make out her frame. “Try to sleep, Mo”, he whispered reassuringly, “Tomorrow will be better.”

He waited in silence for her breath to become slow and calm. When he was sure that she was indeed asleep, Credence carefully got up and sneaked out of the bed. On silent soles, he tiptoed back to the living room. There he spotted Grindelwald sitting on the window sill. He was holding a pipe in his hand. The soft glow of it as he puffed at it slowly, lit up his face on occasions.

“Sir”, asked Credence, “Can we talk?” 

Grindelwald turned his head. He lowered the hand with the pipe. “What is it?”, he asked and his mismatched gaze rooted Credence to the spot. Storm on one eye, night on the other. It was hard to keep this look up. Credence felt as if Grindelwald was reading his inner core. The boy gulped and walked closer.

“You said you were called Grimmwood towards the lady downstairs, but Modesty called you Grindelwald. Why do you go by two names, Sir? And what is your actual name?”, Credence asked.

“My real name is Gellert Grindelwald. And why do I go by two names? Because it protects me.”

Credence blinked. What did that man need protection for? He seemed to have everything in his life. He had a good sheltered house, food and more. So why would he bother with using a fake identity? It did not make any sense.

Nervously treading on one side, Credence murmured:“Please do not think me ungrateful, but I must ask: What is the price?”

“The price for what?”

“The price for all of this? Food and shelter. I am sorry, Sir, however I have learned from past experience that generosity never comes without a cost.”

Grindelwald rose a brow. His lips pulled into a brief smile. “Mach dir keine Sorgen.” He turned his face away to look out at the starry sky over London. “Der Preis wird bezahlbar sein.”

***

The next morning, Credence and Modesty woke up to a very peculiar sight. A large eagle owl was flying against the upper window. It hit the glass with its claws and shrieked. Credence stood there, startled by the noise and bedazzled by its beauty. The eagle owl was dark brown and had amber eyes. It seemed to be holding something in its claws. Still, the sound of the wings and its body hitting glass frightened the boy.

“Grindelwald, Sir?”, Credence addressed the man who was sleeping on the couch, “There is an owl at the window. What...what do we do?” Grindelwald stirred under the blanket, eyes half shut in sleep. “Mach das Fenster auf”, he murmured. “Ehm, what?”, inquired Credence, not understanding German.

“Open the window, I said!”

Credence startled at the call. He rushed to the window and opened the lid. The eagle owl shrieked, and its bashing wings almost hit Credence’s head as it swooped past him and landed on the table. Grindelwald sat up and approached the bird. Rubbing his eyes, he grumbled more to himself then anybody else in particular: “I hope this distraction comes with a very good reason. It is not even dawn yet.”

Credence watched Gellert take the item from the owl’s leg, which he now recognised as a folded letter. “Alright, what do we have here?” Grindelwald carefully began to unfold the letter. With a furrowed brow, he began reading it. As he did so, his face eclipsed more and more. Modesty and Credence shared anxious looks.

“Sir?”, asked Credence cautiously, “Is something the matter?”

Gellert slowly folded the letter and placed it in his cloak. “Everything is alright, Credence”, he said and abruptly changed the subject, “Now, come you two. I am sure you must be hungry. Ever had a fish sandwich for breakfast?”

***

The Billingsgate Fish Market was only a short walk away from their house. Following a street, they found themselves near the Thames yet again. The air reeked of dead fish. Stands stood there, side by side, offering herrings from hooks, salmons, laying in red heaps together, strips of smoked rock salmon and whole eel. The fish’s dead eyes were a bit eerie, and they looked quite ugly. Seagulls shrieked over Credence’s head.

Their shouts added to the remaining noises. People were pushing each other into all directions as they tried to find the cheapest and best fish. Dogs sniffed at bins, and stray cats hurried between people’s legs, hissing and snarling. The sellers seemed to be in a constant competition, each one trying to outdo the other one with a better bargain and a louder voice.

Credence, Modesty and Gellert were carefully pushing and scurrying their way through the crowd. Credence clung to Modesty’s hand and tried to keep an eye on Gellert’s golden locks. Other people bumped into him, and he was pushed all over the place. Being invisible. Credence was shockingly familiar with this feeling. He had always been invisible. For the Ma, for the people she preached to, and for Chastity. The Ma only saw him when he did something wrong. The only person that had ever seen him no matter what was Modesty.

Being on this market strangely felt like being invisible all over again. Had his sister not been holding his hand, then Credence might have felt strangely lost. London was a new place, large and bustling with live. Even the fish market seemed to be an entire new micro-cosmos of its own. A micro-cosmos, Credence did not know the rules of. And so he let himself be drifted from side to side and hoped he did not get lost entirely.

“Buy your smoked herrings at Froni’s!” Grindelwald was heading in the direction of a stout, short woman with fat arms and a red face. She was holding a herring by its hook in her hand and her voice boomed over the market place. “Now with bread, lettuce, mustard sauce and a jug of cider. Only for three pounds and fifty pence! That’s a whole breakfast. Only three pounds and fifty pence! And only at Froni’s!”

Credence, Modesty and Gellert halted at the stand of the fisherwoman. Froni asked: “Oih, what can I get for the gentlemen and the young lassie?” Gellert looked back at the two Barebones before he ordered: “Three herring sandwiches.” Froni slammed three fat herrings upon the bread, added lettuce and some mustard sauce and handed them the food. Credence took a cautious bite. He had eaten fish before, but even that had been rare. The herring sandwich had an odd taste, but it was filling.

As he ate his breakfast, Credence suddenly noticed something odd. Gellert leaned forwards as if to lay the payment upon the counter. However instead he whispered: “You wished to see me?”

Froni leaned closer as well. From an outsider perspective, it seemed as if they were counting the right amount of pounds out of Gellert’s purse. “Yes”, she murmured out of the corner of her lips, “Jefferson’s dead. Toppclife got him. Though from what I hear, he did not tell anything.”

Gellert pushed the money towards Froni. He merely hissed: “I do not like this. Toppclife is way too persistent for my liking. But then it cannot be helped. Jefferson served me well, but alas causalities are a cost I must pay.” He took his food as well.

Credence, face half buried in his fish sandwich, had heard everything. His stomach knotted. What had Grindelwald want at this fish market really? Clearly the statement to get breakfast had been a mere excuse. Who was Jefferson? Why had he and Froni talked in such secrecy with each other? Credence did not know. And this fact made him anxious more then ever.

He walked back a few steps, trying to get some distance between himself and the blonde wizard. While his reaction to this weird conversation had been fear and caution, Modesty had not moved an inch. Her eyes locked with Grindelwald, and Credence could tell that she had listened as attentively as he had done. However unlike him, Modesty’s look spoke of caution, contempt and incredible mistrust.

“Modesty”, asked Credence quietly, “Did you… did you not say he was alright?”

“I am not sure”, confessed Modesty. She rubbed over her arms. The tips of her brows wandered upwards.

“What can you feel, Mo?” Even Credence had noticed that she had some strange ability, which allowed her to tell if somebody was trustworthy or not.

Modesty sighed and her shoulders dropped: “I am sorry, Credence, but I cannot –”

They halted as they saw two men climb on boxes on the market place. Credence cocked his head in surprise. He quickly pushed Modesty behind him. Gellert rose a brow. Other people turned around, faces a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

The two men wore dark cloaks. On closer examination, Credence thought he could see the flash of a necklace on one man and a bracelet on the other. He furrowed his brows. That triangle… He had seen it somewhere before. But where?

The necklace man rose to his full height and spoke: “Citizens of London, I have come to speak to you on urgent matters. For years our community has been hiding itself and scuffling underneath restrictions and laws that kept us separate from Muggles. We all have to follow the Ministry and their rules, telling us what to do. Isn’t this getting tedious It is time that we raise up for the sake of a better tomorrow. For –!”

Splash! Somebody had taken a fish and angrily thrown it against the man’s face. The thrower shouted: “Shut up! We do not want your propaganda here!” “Yes!”, called the crowd and angrily shook their fists, “Yes! Yes! Shove your propaganda up your ass!”

“You fools!”, howled the man with the bracelet, “Have you all gone to the dogs?! What are you? Wizards with some kind of dignity? Or rats?!” 

At that moment another man snatched a bottle of fish oil, flung it around and made it smash against the bracelet wizard’s face. The glass shattered and a disgusting smelling, brown sauce dropped over his face and shoulders. “Go back to Germany, you ass-kissing Nazi!”

“Excuse me?!” The bracelet wizard whipped off the fish oil. His face was red in anger. “I am from Wales!” The wand was in his hand. And at that moment Credence knew what would happen. He saw Grindelwald leap towards them in an attempt to push them behind the stands. He heard the crowd roar and saw a sea of angry faces like little goblins, looting a treasure. He saw this mass swarm forwards and the two preachers get thrown of their pedestals.

A loud noise filled the air. People were screaming. The market place as narrow as it was turned into a death trap. Wizards were throwing spells at each other. There were bangs and flashes. Men fell left and right. Fish and oil bottles flew around. Some shattered on the ground, making it all slippery and wet. Others landed in people’s faces, chest and neck. Insults were screamed at each other, but most of it was drowned in the noises.

Credence heard Gellert yelp as someone shoved him aside and he could see him disappear in the crowd. The black-haired boy tried to hold onto Modesty, but people pushed and shoved them this way and that way. More then once he almost fell. Children were screaming. Mothers were clawing and slashing anybody who came near them or their babies. People were climbing over each other like those that tried to survive a coming ravine. Fighters were coiled in each other, putting at hairs and clothes, punching each other. Several spells rained down into the stands, which exploded and caught fire. A few very cowardly men tried to hide behind them.

“ _CREDENCE!_ ” Modesty’s shrill scream of despair rang in his ears as a group of fighters slammed between them and they were separated. Credence moaned as he hit the floor. His shoulder ached. Around him, he heard the trampling of feet. _Must get up. Must find Modesty._ He staggered to his feet. “Modesty!”, shouted Credence as he looked around, “Modesty! Where are you?!”

But she had already been swept away by the screaming hoard. Her plea for help rang in his ears. He had to find her! This riot would tear her to pieces if he did not do anything! For a short moment he thought he saw pale blond hair and raced into the direction, but before he could even get close, something heavy slammed down upon him. Credence fell so hard, his lips cracked open and he tasted blood.

“This is for Huston!” The voice, though only heard once, was recognisable in an instant. Blind-Eye. How had he gotten here? He had been in Edinburgh! That was several miles from here. Had he followed them? Credence did not really have any times to pursue these questions. He could see the other man’s shadow before him. An arm raised above his head. He was holding something pointy in his hand.

A knife! Credence yelped and twisted and turned. He could already feel his skin turn into shreds and throwing bubbles as if it was melting off. The Obscurus was trying to break through. Credence kicked like mad and tried to get Blind-Eye off his back. Noticing the black smoke and tendrils growing out of his victim’s skin, the body snatcher shouted and angrily jabbed down blindly in an attempt to hit flesh.

Credence screamed. The knife had dug its blade into his hand. Blood ran down his fingers. The pain turned the Obscurus in him half insane. His lips deformed and a guttural scream broke out of his throat. An explosion of hot wind followed, and several men were flung back. Another stand was shredded and reduced to ashes within minutes. As Credence got up, he thought he saw Blind-Eye, now with his left arm badly disfigured, hobbling away from the battlefield. The look the body snatcher gave the boy was murderous.

The snorting of horses. Credence spun around. He saw a group of riders in heavy, blue cloaks rush towards the group. On their chests was a bronze emblem of an M, which seemed to be shaped around a pair of scales. One of the fighters’ face turned white and he shouted: “Aurors!”

The word alone was enough to make Credence’s blood stop in his veins. The ‘Aurors’ had been the ones that had fired all the spells that had killed him! The memory alone made the Obscurus inside of him curl. Credence had a look of terror on his face as he watched the Aurors swoop into the riot.

People screamed and yelled as they tried to get away from the trampling horses. Spells flew. Some were this sickly green tone and as soon as they hit someone, they fell down. Some were stabbed with spells that made blood gush out of them. Others were crippled by bluish white electricity.

Suddenly a hand grabbed Credence by his neck and he was yanked backwards. Staggering against Froni’s fish sandwich stand, a familiar head of golden curls appeared before him as Grindelwald pinned him against the dark wood. He hissed: “Credence, stay here.”

“But what about Modesty?!” Credence struggled against the grip. “Let me go, Grindelwald! I have to find her.”

“No, I will find her! You stay here. And for Faust’s sake, do not change or this will be the end of us all!”

And before Credence could stop him, Gellert had let go of him and plunged head-first back into the riot.

***

Modesty had somehow managed to avoid the major fights. She had squeezed herself underneath a table and watch with terror in her eyes as the world was falling apart around her. The heavy grunts and pants. The shrill screams and squeals. The smashing of bodies on the floor. It would all follow her into her nightmares. More then once Modesty yelled in shock, however she did not cry. She just curled herself up underneath the table and prayed in silent panic that nobody found her here.

Somebody fell against her table and sent it flying. Modesty shrieked and staggered to her feet. Turning her head, she saw the man having a large wound on his forehead. Blood tickled down his temple. Panting in shock, Modesty looked around in hectic. She heard the thunder of the horses’ hooves as they rushed over the place, blood and dirt on their legs. The riders threw their spells and anybody who was not out of reach quick enough was doomed to get hurt.

One of the horses, a sweaty, huge monster, was heading straight towards her. “Help!”, Modesty cried in terror and scattered backwards, “Anybody, help!” Her ankle got caught up between some fish’s intestine and she fell backwards. The rider kept holding towards her. He rose a wand. Modesty shrieked in panic and terror as she saw a spark of blue lightning fly from the tip, aiming for her.

Throwing her arms over her head, she heard a sudden move, then a warm, living and breathing body threw itself on her. Arms wrapped themselves protectively around her. Modesty felt a sharp heat rush over them and heard a crashing sound. Glass splinters rained down upon them. She screamed, kicking like a foal. The arms pulled her closer and Grindelwald placed his head on hers, whispering words of comfort she did not understand in all the noise.

With another sound like thunder and the air smelling of horse, the patrol rushed past them. Modesty shivered like a person, who almost drowned. She clung to Grindelwald, who slowly got up. He yelled a string of German insults after the riders, Modesty could not understand, and made an angry jerking move with his finger.

Dropping his hand, he slowly stepped back. His cloak was covered in ash and splinters of glass. The hair was signed in parts. Sweat covered his skin. Gellert brushed through his locks with a hand. Modesty let out a sob of relief and hugged him so tightly, he almost staggered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Her voice trembled, her body shook. It was as if she had no bones any longer.

Gellert caressed her back and kept holding her in his arms. “Hush, Modesty”, he whispered, “Es ist alles in Ordnung. Du bist in Sicherheit. Du bist okay. Beruhig dich. Sssccccchhhh.” He slowly dandled her, murmuring words of comfort. Modesty did not let go. She was too grateful that he had risked himself to save her from the spell and the hooves of the horse. He had risked himself to save her life. It almost felt surreal.

“Modesty!” Credence raced towards her. Gellert stepped back, and before the blonde girl even knew it, her brother had wrapped his arms around her. He was shaking just as much as she did but of relief, not just terror. She clung to him, whimpering as her hammering heart began to calm down. “You are alive. You are not hurt, are you?” Credence’s hands trembled as he checked for any injury.

“I am alright”, sobbed the girl, “I am alright.” 

Credence kept holding onto her. However he too seemed to calm down. Looking at Grindelwald, he stammered: “How can I thank you? You saved her life.”

Grindelwald merely nodded his head. “Was the least I could do.” He walked through the remains of the beaten down riot. Most people had managed to escape, however between the rubble of market stands, Modesty spotted limb hands and motionless bodies. Grindelwald kicked away a few boards and turned corpses around. Finally he found the two preachers that had started this riot.

He knelt down. Modesty could not really see what he was doing, but it seemed as if he was removing something from them. Credence watched the process in silence, before he finally asked: “What happened here? Who were these men? What did they want? What were they talking about? Why did everybody freak out all of a sudden? And why did the Aurors kill so many?”

Grindelwald slowly stood up. He pocketed something shimmering. Gellert did not look at them as he explained: “The Ministry does not like people that think differently from them. These people, they were preaching of an alternative way wizards could live. A world of freedom and equality. A world of chances. But our world is like a big baby, you two. It does not like change. It almost seems allergic to it. And since the Ministry dictates how we think, it chokes any change or any riot in its core before it can spread. They would kill you if you say the sky is green.”

Gellert looked back at them. His face almost seemed sad, but from the distance this was hard to tell. “That’s the reason I do not like these people.” A low sigh. “Now, come.” His shoulders straightened. “We should go. The Aurors will return soon. They might suspect anybody, who is near these corpses. Yet another reason for us to avoid them.”

* * *

Translation:

"Mach dir keine Sorgen." = Do not worry.

“Der Preis wird bezahlbar sein.” = The price will be payable.

“Es ist alles in Ordnung. Du bist in Sicherheit. Du bist okay. Beruhig dich. Sssccccchhhh.” = "Everything is alright. You are safe. You are okay. Calm down. Hussssshhhh."


	9. Durmstrang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the next chapter. I personally think it is a bit weaker then the others, so I hope the next one will be stronger again. But anyway I hope you enjoy it,  
> Miss T

They had found a room in a pub, not far away from Godric’s Hollow. It was located at the edges of the forest. _The Kelpie_ clearly was not an often visited public house, because the owner of it positively lost it when Albus and Graves asked for a room to rent for the night. They were lead upstairs to a small, yet cosy bedroom. It had two beds, standing on the opposite sides of a windo w. Aside from that, both beds had their own night-stand and a small lamp. It was not much, but it would do.

Albus had laid down on his bed almost instantly, his back against the wall. He had placed his rucksack on his stomach and was carefully rampaging through it. The auburn-haired man was looking for his diary. He had stored the map with the stolen letters safely away. Parts of him still felt guilty about removing something this crucial from Grindelwald’s room.

Albus was about to pull out his diary, when he heard a groan, coming from the other bed. Turning his head, he spotted Percival Graves, sitting on the edge and massaging his left knee. It was the leg that had been oddly twisted and deformed. He groaned and whimpered to himself. Pity flared up in Albus and he placed his rucksack away. His diary could wait.

“Are you alright?”, Albus asked and halted a few steps before Percival. He looked down at the leg. “Does it hurt? Do you want me to help you lay it on the bed?”

Graves gritted his teeth. “It’s just phantom pain”, he grunted, “It should fade away soon.”

Albus furrowed his brows. “Does something like this not only occur in amputated limbs? You still have your leg. Though” – he knelt down and carefully ran a hand over the leg. The twists and turns of broken and not properly healed bones could be easily felt under stretched and strained skin – “it really does not look good.” He shuddered. “Merlin’s beard, what did Grindelwald do to you, Mister Graves?”

Percival made a face. “Something very inhumane.” When Albus was about to probe further, the former Director growled: “Please, Professor, for my peace’s sake, do not ask me about this matter.” He groaned, and the right hand, equally disfigured, twitched awfully. “Look. If you still want to help me place this leg on the bed, then for Mercy Lewis’ sake, do it! If not, just leave me alone.”

Albus nodded hastily. “Of course”, he stammered, “Pardon me.” He took a careful hold of the ankle and shin. After murmuring a warning, he heaved the leg on the bed and softly placed it on a blanket. Percival yelped and his upper body shook, before it sunk back into the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. “Thank you, Professor.”

Albus got up again. “Do you want me to ask the host to get us some food and tea?”, he offered, “It has been a long day, and you seem exhausted. Besides some food in your stomach might help you sleep.” Graves groaned. He then murmured what seemed to be an agreement. Albus took the bell and called for their host, asking for an omelette and a teapot.

Their meal soon was brought in on a tray. The omelette was a classical one, containing onions, herbs and bacon pieces. The tea was Earl Grey. Albus used his wand to manoeuvre Percival’s night-stand between them to use as a dining table. He poured the tea and added to his own cup milk and sugar. “Do you want milk and sugar as well, Sir?”, he offered.

Graves declined, and they started eating. The omelette tasted good. It was not ground-breaking or anything of that sort, but it was fairly moderate with the onions roasted just enough and the bacon being crisp. Albus cut his into pieces and placed them one by one in his mouth. As he chewed lazily, savouring the taste on his tongue, he suddenly felt being watched.

Albus looked up. Graves stared at him. His look was oddly distant, almost turned inward and his face seemed blank. There was a quiver near the corner of his lips. “Is something wrong?”, asked Albus cautiously after he had swallowed. Percival positively startled as if he had heard a sudden gunshot. “No, no”, he stammered and shook his head, leaning over his plate to scoop up parts of his omelette, “Everything is alright. Everything is fine. Just fine. Do not worry, Professor.” He spoke with an unnecessary earnestness and quickness. However Albus could not figure out why he had reacted so triggered. He rose his shoulders helplessly and returned to his dinner.

Once they had eaten everything, Albus said slowly: “I have been thinking, Mister Graves. While Mrs Bagshot did give us some helpful information, there might be a way to learn even more. And that is to go to Durmstrang Institute and interview the headmistress. After all, Grindelwald was expelled from school. There has to be a reason for that. Moreover, nothing shapes you more then your time at school.”

“You think so?” Percival placed his fork and knife away. He crossed his arms and sunk back into his pillow. “Durmstrang is quite problematic I heard. I mean, nobody knows where the school is located. Besides, I am sure many people have tried to talk with this headmistress. So far, she has refused to speak with anybody. Why should she make a difference now.”

“That was because those were journalists”, responded Albus, “She would not dare to make the same mistake if _I_ ask to speak with her.” His look was grim as he emphasised the word. He was well-known for working with Nicholas Flamel and many people spoke of him being a genius, absolutely brilliant and the best student Hogwarts had ever seen. He might as well use this reputation  to his advantage.

“Well, that could work.” Graves closed his eyes. He already sounded half asleep. “Try it, Professor. It won’t do us any harm.”

And while he drifted off to sleep, the Professor searched once more through his rucksack until he found parchment and ink. Taking a quill, Albus began to compose the following letter:

_Dear Lady Westenra,_

_my name is Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brain. Dumbledore, the Professor of Transfiguration and Head of the Gryffindor House, at Hogwarts._

_I write to you on an urgent matter. Gellert Grindelwald has been a pupil of your school during his youth. Since the time at school is a fundamental part of shaping character, I was wondering if you could be so generous to grant us, me and Mister Percival, MACUSA’s former Director of Magical Security, an audience so we may speak this topic._

_I am aware of the sensitivity of it, and thus I will do my utmost to fulfil any request you might have in regards to your own comfort. I can assure you that none of the information you’ll reveal to us will be used against you and as few as possible shall be disclosed to the public eye._

_I hope for your cooperation and a fast response._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore_

_Professor of Transfiguration_

_Head of Gryffindor House_

Albus folded and sealed the letter with a bit of wax he was carrying in his rucksack for the few cases where he needed to comply letters. He was always working, even when he was abroad or at home. The Professor found it strangely helpful as it avoided the mind from wandering and kept his mind focused. Placing the letter on his night-stand to be sent out tomorrow, Albus yawned and stretched himself, following Percival’s example to settle into bed.

As he did so, his look fell on his tattoo, which was safely hidden underneath his sleeve. His gaze lingered. Albus knew that with a single touch, he could open the connection to Gellert and find out where the other one was. He could even talk with him. Gellert used this connection more then he did. Albus had lost counts on how often the familiar burning sensation had run through his wrist, sometimes even in the middle of the class. He hardly ever replied. For what use would it be? Each conversation they had, each time Albus heard that familiar melodic voice, he had a painful journey through the past. Why rub salt in a wound when you could avoid it?

***

After they had sent the letter, Albus and Percival had to wait over three days before an Ural owl flew into the public house, bearing a response. The letter stuck in a deep red envelope and the seal had been stamped with black wax. It showed the school’s crest: A two-headed eagle. Albus carefully scratched it away with a knife and opened the envelope. Westenra’s response was held on thick, fair glowing paper with silver ink.

_To Professor Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore,_

_I have heard of your achievements in alchemy and many wizards speak highly of you. In regards to your request, I do not like talking about this subject as it is very sensitive like you noticed. Moreover I do not wish to harm my school’s and student’s reputation. Which is the reason I am rather appalled that you want to bring a Ministry official on my school grounds. However I am willing to admit you, if you agree to the following terms:_

_You will not travel directly to my school. Instead you will use a train that brings you to a nearest train station. There a school official will wait for you and bring you to the castle._

_You agree to take a vow of silence regarding any information you learn in the castle. This includes any information regarding the subject, my school’s location, its students and teachers._

_Professor Dumbledore will be the only person that enters my office. You will not bring a pencil, quill, paper or parchment, or any other means to document what I am going to tell you, magical- or non-magical-wise._

_You and Mister Graves will be subjected to a Memory Charm, which will remove any memory of my school’s exact location from your mind._

_I will be awaiting your response no later then the end of this week, so the correct preparations may be taken._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lady Nyx Westenra_

_Headmistress of Durmstrang Institute_

_Professor of the Dark Arts_

_Sorceress_

_Etc. Etc._

Albus looked at Graves. He responded: “It is at least some kind of response. Probably more then most people ever were granted.”

“Still”, said Percival, “she refuses to allow me the same access to the information that she will give you!”

“I will tell you what she tells me. I promise.”

Percival scuffed. “Oh”, he said coldly, “like you did not tell me what you were doing up there in Gellert Grindelwald’s room when we were at Bathildas’.”

“I was just searching for some books”, Albus defended himself.

“You did not tell me that Bathilda Bagshot was Grindelwald’s aunt. I agreed to help you. I thought, we were in this together. So it makes me wonder. What else are you not telling me?” 

His eyes were piercing like that of a hawk. Albus looked back into this searching gaze. Even though his stomach knotted, he remained calm and cautious. He could not tell Percival about the relationship he used to have with Gellert. It would ruin the fragile trust he was trying to build with this man. Moreover, if the Ministry caught sight of his tattoo, they could accuse him of treason. Treason meant either a lifelong sentence in Azkaban or what was more likely a death sentence.

Officially Britain did not have a death penalty. However Albus knew that for a person like Toppclife official was a substitute that could be ignored on occasions. Though the Professor had never meat the chief inquisitor himself, he had heard horrible stories about what this man was capable off. It went even so far that among criminals that visited the Hog’s Head the term “Don’t Toppclify me” was making the rounds. According to his brother Aberforth, this term meant “Don’t give me third-degree-burns; don’t torture me with your questions”.

So yes, Albus was aware: If his relationship to Gellert Grindelwald, most wanted criminal and dark wizard par excellence, was discovered, his future was not looking bright. Albus could lie himself out of many situations, but lieing himself out of a conversation with Toppclife did, as dozens dead criminals told him, more harm then good.

Thus, he looked at Percival and responded: “No. Nothing.”

They settled that they would come to Durmstrang on the 5 th August, which would be within the next four days. This time Westenra used an Express Owlery owl, which was a magical type of owl, specifically bred to fly twice as fast as the fastest natural owl race. Thus they got their reply within one day. The letter merely contained directions and two tickets, which were halting at a Norwegian town, which Albus was not even going to try to say out loud, because he would totally butcher the name with his accent.

At the agreed day,  Albus and Percival aparated from England to the station in Trondheim, from where they would take a train from platform 27 ½. There the Norwitch Express brought tourist wizards and witches to, aside from the obvious main Muggle towns, several wizarding towns.

It was late in the afternoon when Albus and Graves finally reached their destination. Having spent 8 hours in a cabin with a fat witch, who tried to do a Sudoko and during this hit everybody in the side with her elbows, and a thin and shuddering wizard, who had taken up a snoring competition against the train, Albus was glad to be out of it. And from the relieved groan and sigh, Percival made as he placed the tip of his umbrella on the platform, he did not seem to be the only one.

_ Am Arsch der Welt. _ That was the first word that sprang to Albus’ head as he looked around the station. They positively were at the end of the world. Though he found the German term – At the ass of the world – way more fitting. The train station contained of a small house with a red roof, however from the dirty windows Albus could tell, it had been a long time since any personal had been in this place. There was a small noticeboard at one of the lanterns, which gave instructions on how to get to the nearest town. 

“Great!”, called Percival and threw his healthy arm into the air, “We are in the middle of nowhere. Now, what? Mercy Lewis, I bet by Salem that this so-called headmistress tricked us. Wouldn’t surprise me if you ask me?” He hobbled around, his broken leg dragging a black line into the snow. “Or was this a part of your glorious plan, Professor?”

Albus sighed. He pressed his fingers against the back of his nose. “Mister Graves”, he requested, “please change your attitude towards the people, whose help we rely on. You have already been rather rude to Mrs. Bagshot. This is the first time I am actually interacting with Lady Westenra. I do not want her to have a bad opinion of me, because you have to show your hatred for dark magic so openly.”

“Why shouldn’t I?!” There was an odd glimmer of panic in Percival’s eyes and for a brief moment his broken hand twitched and trembled. He sucked the air through his teeth. His look turned sad. Closing his eyes, Percival took a deep breath, before he opened them again and said with almost carelessness: “Do forgive me, Professor, but Grindelwald has done terrible things to me. I know, he is not all dark wizards, but you can see where my mistrusts comes from. I will try to hold it back around Westenra.”

“I know, Mister Graves. And I will try to understand.”

Percival sighed. “You can’t.” He gave him a short look. He then hobbled around the small train station. Gazing outside, he looked over the snow. “Didn’t Westenra tell us a cab would be waiting for us?”

“That she did.” Albus slowly walked to his side. He squinted his eyes as he too gazed ahead. There was a small, black dot moving through the snow. It came rapidly closer. “That… does not look like a cab”, stated Albus in surprise. At least, it was not a traditional cab, pulled by horses. It was not even a chariot at all.

It was a dog sled. Pulled by six strong huskys, the sled was painted in a dark colour and allowed, aside from the musher, two other people on it. Albus could recognise the crest of the Durmstrang Institute upon the harness of the lead dog. Apparently in the environment, where Durmstrang was located, horses would prove to be a means of transport that had more disadvantages then advantages. Still, Albus had never seen wizards use dog-sleds to get from one location to the other.

In fact, he had expected that Westenra would simply send them a portkey and be done with it. Thus this was surprising indeed. It immediately awoke Albus’ curiousity.

“Dumvledore? Grawes?” The musher spoke with a thick accent.

“Yes”, responded Albus and nodded at Percival, “That’s us. I presume, your sled is supposed to bring us to Durmstrang castle.”

“Yes.” The musher searched in his wide, heavy robes. “Lady Westenra requests that you are blindfolded during the travel.”

“What?!” Percival’s head snapped around. Albus quickly took a hold of his arm and pulled at his cloak. “Percival”, he hissed, “Remember what I said. Lady Westenra has to keep her school safe like every other headmaster does. If this is one of her means of doing so, do not judge it.” Percival stared at Albus for a few seconds. His shoulders dropped.

The Professor addressed the musher again: “Allow us to take our seats on your sled. Then you may proceed as ordered.”

It was a bit difficult to climb onto the sled. There were blankets laid out for them to make the journey more comfortable. The musher carefully wrapped two scarfs over each of their eyes. “Marsch!”, he shouted and off they went. It was one thing to drive with a chariot. It was a whole other thing to drive with a dog-sled. Albus could hear the barks of the huskys and the trampling of their paws, muffled by the snow. The wind raced around his ears. He could hear a crunching sound as the vats scratched over thin layers of ice hidden underneath the snow.

Albus was sure: He could not really tell for how long they were driving. Leave alone where they were driving. All he knew, where the twists and turns the sled made. Once it even felt as if they were going up a mountain as the dog’s barks became more silent and their steps more heavy as they seemed to concentrate on something.

Finally the musher said: “Stop!” and the sled came to a halt. Albus felt hands remove his binding. He heard Graves gasp and rub his eyes. Blinking, the Professor looked around. They were coming out of a mountain pass and now walked down towards a spot that seemed to be a shore. Waves crushed against the shore. A vast ground with long grass spread before them.

The castle in front of them looked strange and magnificent. It was not as tall as Hogwarts; only four stores high. The stones were brown, almost black, and the green windows covered the place like dozens of eyes. There were a few shades of red on the sills and roofs, but the castle was less decorative. Moreover in a weird way, Albus thought he could feel magic emit from it. Maybe another protective charm?

Coming to a halt, the huskys yawned and carefully stretched their legs. They had  stopped by a small spot a bit away from the castle. The barks of dogs filled the air. Apparently Durmstrang had a massive, complex dog kennel instead of an Owlery. Or rather the owl simply was not the predominant animal in this school. _ It makes sense for them to have dogs _ , thought Albus as he climbed out of the sledge,  _ this place is hostile, it is hard to reach for owls. _ In fact as he kept gazing around, he could not find a quidditch pitch. If there was one, it probably was way smaller.

The musher removed the harnesses from the huskys. Patting their backs and heads, he murmured words. Albus asked: “Sir, where do I find Lady Westenra?”

The other man rose and nodded to one of the many towers. “Her office ‘s up there”, he explained, “In one of the highest towers. You cannot miss it, Dumvledore.”

“Thank you.”

With Graves by his side, Albus began to walk towards the castle. He addressed Percival: “Mister Graves, while I talk with Lady Westenra, I want you to seek out a few of the students. Talk with them. Maybe they know a few things, Westenra won’t tell me.”

“You think, she might lie to you?”, asked Graves.

“Maybe not directly lie, but I doubt she is keen on sharing everything.”

They stopped by a bridge and looked down at a meadow. There a few students in their heavy, red robes were playing thug-of-war with  the huskys. It seemed that these dogs were actually theirs. Albus caught himself lost in thoughts as he gazed at the smiling and laughing faces. How had Gellert been when he had been on this school? Did he have a dog too? What had the dog been like? Had it been a black husky? Or maybe a silvery-white one, which seemed more like a ghost-wolf then a husky? Or a red one to go with his golden locks? How would he have acted around the dog? Albus pictured his lover playfully pinch and thug the dog to cause a play fight. He almost thought he could hear that melodic, wild laughter he loved so much.

The Gellert he knew had a very peculiar way of laughing. When he laughed, his entire body would laugh. He would tremble and flinch, hold his stomach and shake from head to toe. His face would lit up, eyes sparkling like diamonds in fresh fallen snow. His smile too wide and too gaily. Albus sighed quietly.

It took Graves’ repetitive cough to bring him back into reality. “Professor?”, he asked. “Professor?!” Albus startled. “I am sorry”, he confessed, “I was lost in thoughts.”

“Pretty much.” Percival gave him a queer look.

“Look”, Albus said with a sigh, “How about you go and just ask the students? I have to meet with Lady Westenra.” Keeping his gaze linger on him for a while, Percival slowly strolled down the path to join the students, playing with their dogs. He seemed to express interest in the huskys, which quickly caused the students, mostly first and second years, to gather around him.

Albus turned around and walked up to the castle. As he headed for the entrance, his look fell upon an engraving next to it. It was large and roughly drawn, slammed into the stone as if it did not belong here. A large, almost fifteen feet high triangle, which was crossed through by a vertical line and a circle. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows. Gellert might have been expelled from Durmstrang, but he had made sure to leave an impression of true greatness. Much like the man himself.

Albus halted by the triangle. He looked around cautiously, but nobody paid attention to him. Laying his fingers almost tenderly upon the rough, ragged lines, Albus sighed. He was lost in thoughts yet again for a short while. Gellert had told him how he had not cared about having been expelled. Albus, who was a dutiful man, could not understand it. For him, his education had been everything. He had pushed very hard for even Aberforth to at least finish his O.W.Ls, before he dropped out of school. Gellert however seemed to have taken pride in the fact that he had gotten so dark that even Durmstrang, a school that tolerated the dark arts more then any other school, had thrown him out.

He began to search for Westenra’s office.  Albus looked around in even more curiosity. Durmstrang was a dark school. There were no fires lit for light purposes like in Hogwarts. Instead a ghostly green light emitted from the dark glasses. It was as if the windows were trapping the sun and only letting a bit of its rays into the corridors. But even with that limited vision, Albus could make out details extremely well.

While Hogwarts was notorious for its knights and paintings, Durmstrang was decorated with gargoyles of all sorts. They sat on window sills, on columns, hang from the ceiling and roofs. There were several malachite, rubies and sapphires encased into the stone, so perfectly thin crafted that it was clearly made by goblin hands. The stones felt haunted and the air buzzed with magic. The entire castle was brimming with magic. Almost as if it hid something.

Albus hurried through the corridors. After some twists and turns, he finally found what had to be Lady Westenra’s office. There was a massive stature of a two-headed eagle, standing before a gate. Amber eyes in a stone skull fixated upon Albus and he was gripped by the strangest sensation of somehow being seen through. As if this guard read his past and present, learned all his secrets.

Wings folding and body quietly crunching from stone, the gargoyle slowly climbed down from his socket. Stepping aside, it revealed a narrow staircase, which spiralled upstairs to another floor. After ascending the last step, Albus slowly entered the office.

It resembled an odd, long stretched squares. Three large windows on the back allowed Albus to see upon what must be a massive lake. The rush of waves in his ears. An old gas lamp hang from the ceiling and bathed everything in golden light. The table at the centre was long and of solid, dark wood. On it laid papers, quills and boxes. On one side Albus spotted a globe on a shelf, which was crammed with books and scrolls.

Lady Westenra was standing behind the desk. She was a tall, pale woman with a stern face and her black hair tied into a bun. There was something distinctively royal, yet savage about her. Her eyes were of a stormy grey. She was wearing a thigh-up, black dress with a few silver braidings upon it. Her dress had a cut near the leg, Albus observed, which revealed a deep, dark red inner lining.

As soon as Albus laid eyes upon the Durmstrang headmistress, he could tell that she was someone who ruled her school with an iron fist. Strict, but fair. The Professor could only guess that it was necessary, simply because the students were taught dark magic. They had to learn respect. Still, Albus felt a chill run down his spine. There was something about Westenra that upset him greatly, without wanting to upset him. Something that whispered dark sorceress into his ear.

“So you are Professor Dumbledore?” Lady Westenra folded her fingers into one another as she watched him from head to toe, analysing the strange fellow in front of her.

“Yes.” Albus laid a hand on his chest and bowed. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Westenra. And may I express my thanks in person that you allow me to investigate in regards to Grindelwald.”

Her head lowered itself. “May I know why, Professor? Be aware that you were not the first person, who asked me to talk about my greatest pupil. And you surely are not the last.” Her stern eyes locked with him again. Albus could tell, she was ready to defend the honour of her school. Durmstrang had been smeared by the other schools with having Gellert Grindelwald as their student and bad tongues said, it was no surprise he turned evil with such a school to train him.

“I mean no harm”, confessed Albus, “I do not wish to slander Durmstrang for taking in Grindelwald. The matter I have is of a personal nature.” Westenra rose a brow and stared at him. It seemed as if her eyes tried to reach the depths of his soul. Albus tried to control his breathing, remembering that his Occlumency was well enough to ward of the best wizards of their time. Still whenever Grindelwald was mentioned, it took a certain effort to keep up his act.

“A personal issue? What may that be?”

The lie left Albus’ lips as if it was the most natural thing in the world: “I have only recently become a teacher. Like every other teacher, I wish for the best for my students. I want them all to become great wizards, confident in their abilities. But as Grindelwald’s example has shown me, there is always some danger of temptation… for too much greatness. I want to understand Grindelwald in hopes of avoiding mistakes.”

Her face turned sour. Albus quickly rose a hand. “Beautiful and cunning Lady Westenra”, he said, “I am not condemning you or your school for what happened. I merely wish to learn. And I had hoped that a woman, who must have known Grindelwald quite intimately, could help me. School is a time that shapes us a lot and nobody is born evil. I know people think Grindelwald is a mad man. I have never agreed with these views. I hope, we are on the same side in this case.”

“I agree with you, Professor Dumbledore.” Westenra sighed deeply and gestured with her wand. A chair made out of dark wood grew out of the ground, twisting and turning like a snake, before it shaped itself into a simple, yet decorative model. Albus took a thankful seat. “I will try to answer your questions”, began the headmistress, “however you must understand that there will be some things I refuse to talk about.”

Albus nodded. He then asked: “What kind of student was Grindelwald?”

Westenra’s look seemed to drift into the distance. What did she see in the corridors of the past? A young, gay, blond student, laughing with a mismatched gaze bedazzling you? Her words were so tender that they shook Albus through the core: “We have many different kinds of students on Durmstrang. They all have to learn dark magic. There are some that always struggle with it and only master the basics. Then there are some that take most things very well, but still need help on occasions. Then there are those that take to everything with ease.”

“And then there are those rare ones like Grindelwald. The ones that take to dark magic like a fish to water. He was a natural. From the moment I saw him, I could see greatness in this young boy, and potential. I even believe that our school did not give him as much outlet as he would have needed to satisfy his graving. Our schedule reached far, but the subject of dark magic runs way, way deeper then we teach. And he was determined to discover everything.”

Albus looked at the fondness in her eyes and recalled the tenderness of her voice. He understood. “You had a very intimate relationship for teacher and student. You called him your pupil. Did you mentor him in private?”

She nodded. “From the third year on.”

“Then you must have known of his experiments!” The words were out before Albus could stop them.

Westenra’s face darkened with pain. “I knew of his experimental nature”, she explained, “Do not get me wrong, Professor. Grindelwald was not hiding from me that he enjoyed experimenting with magic. He was a person, who tried to test boundaries of magic. While other students read up on history, he would feed rats with poisons he had mixed together or enchant them with all sorts of curses. I knew he was going far with his magic. I just… I could not have foretold how far he would go when it comes to his interest in the dark arts.”

Albus’ brows furrowed. He cocked his head. This subject seemed to be a touchy one. Difficult to handle. Albus asked cautiously: “Do you mind telling me  _ why _ he was expelled? All reports say it was because of his experiments, but nobody goes into detail.”

Westenra did not look at him. She replied shortly: “I am sorry, Professor, but I cannot speak about this issue.” Pain emitted from her like waves, and Albus wondered if the pain was because she had to expel Gellert or because of why she had to expel him. He was tempted to ask again, however it did not seem like Westenra was finished.

The headmistress rose and walked to the window. Albus could not really see what she looked at but he could make a good guess. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows in the walls of the castle. “Grindelwald slandered us”, began Westenra, “He made sure that the whole world looked upon us as the ones that created the monster. He had so much potential. If he had just learned to use it correctly. But no, all his power, all his education” – she spun around, face furious – “wasted on his current pursuit. And as if this is not enough, he made sure we would never forget him as a student.”

Albus sighed. “There must have been signs”, he murmured, massaging his neck, “You should have seen it coming. Surely, he did not turn evil overnight. What about friends? Did he have any? Maybe they noticed?” He could tell that the subject upset Westenra greatly. It was already a marvel that she had been willing to tell him this much.

Stopping at the table, Westenra looked at Albus and told him: “He did not have many friends. Maybe two or three he hung out regularly with. I do not know whether he talked with them about what he did or not. I personally doubt it. For why should he tell them what he had done? Or if he told them, he probably did not reveal everything.”

Albus nodded. “Of course not.” There was one more question he had to ask. “Did you have any idea whether or not he was searching for the… Deathly Hallows? I am sure you have heard of this rumour.” He was curious to see what she would say now. How long had Gellert been obsessed with the Hallows? Had he maybe started his search far earlier then Albus had anticipated?

“Yes, he had been researching them”, answered Westenra, “Or rather he read up books on murders. He read up on how many wizards had been killed by another wizard and how. In general, he was very focussed on what murders where committed by wands and how they were done. Aside from that, he read various fairy tales. Urban legends. I knew, he was trying to track something down. Once he started wearing that silvery necklace with the triangle, I knew what it was. I had hoped this foolish obsession would settle down. But alas it seems to have gotten worse.”

Albus sighed. He was not sure if he could discover more. The fact that Westenra did not answer the most important question of all, still nagged at Albus. He could not leave now. Hesitantly he tried yet again: “Can you not consider telling me why he was expelled? I promise I will not use the information. But it is important.”

Westenra shook her head firmly. Her look was hard. “I am afraid, Professor, but I stay by my previous answer. No. All you must know is that Gellert Grindelwald was expelled for dark experiments and immoral behaviour.”

Albus perked up at this term. Immoral behaviour. That was a new information. However he could tell that probing deeper was no more of use. The Professor bowed. “I thank you for your time, Lady Westenra.” The headmistress nodded back. Albus rose and headed towards the exit.

At the door he stopped. Without looking at her, he asked: “Do you regret it? Teaching him?”

Westenra said: “I do not, Professor Dumbledore. I regret what he has become. But I do not regret teaching him. After all you said it yourself: We all just want the best for our students. And I had indeed wished Gellert could have become the man I knew he had the potential of becoming.”


	10. Fauchender Felix (Hissing Felix)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody.  
> First of all a massive appology for taking so long with this chapter. With university work on one side, roleplaying on the other and the Fantastic Beast Smutt week, I sadly did neglect Schattenkind quite a bit. I hope people are still interested in it and up for reading it. This next chapter does continue with Team Dumbledore pretty much where we left off last time. I hope you all enjoy it.  
> Lots of love, Miss T.

_Durmstrang Institute, 1895_

Quills scratched over parchment. The dry, sharp sound was almost drowned by the calm, rushing waves of the sea. Forty students of the third grade were all bending over desks and staring down at their papers. Sometimes one of them gazed up to study the problem ahead of them.

It was the midterm exam and in the Dark Arts class, this meant that the students were all confronted with a task, which they had to solve by a dark magical spell. Said task was the removal of a small ring from a box in a shady corner of the room. Around said box was drawn a web of curses and bans, thin and elegant like a spider’s web. It looked delicate, however as various failed attempts of bleeding students with burned clothes showed, it was not as easy to undo as it looked like.

The exam was structured in the way that the students first had to write what they would do on paper and then preform said task before the teacher. One could gain seventy points if one’s explanation was well done and again thirty points if one preformed the act correctly. So far most students had, according to Gellert’s guess, only managed to achieve fifty till sixty points maximum. Rather good. Though some of the really bad ones passed barely.

Gellert dipped his quill into the ink pot and began to write again. He was muttering under his breath and threw a brief look at the ring and its surroundings. Nodding to himself as he calculated, Gellert continued writing. He had a fast and sharp handwriting, that on occasions drifted into the unreadable.

“Time’s up!” John McCabe shouted. Fourth year students were allowed to help in the tests, which mostly meant that they were collecting the papers. Since the fourth-year students already had passed their test. McCabe had bragged how he had gotten eighty points on his. Which had made Gellert look at his friends, mockingly mimicking the older one and causing a chuckle among the younger group.

“Give me the pages!” The student snatched the parchments out of the others’ hands. Many students flinched. McCabe checked on a clipboard. “Okay, whose next? G… Grindelwald. Let’s see what you wrote here.” Giving Gellert a nasty look (he had never liked the younger student), McCabe read aloud: “To get to the ring, I would first try to get as close as possible. Then I would lay my hands on the shadows of the wall and say Um… Umbra..ja to make –”

He lowered the pages and gave Gellert a mocking glare. “Your education obviously was very rustic”, he stated, “Umbraja is not a spell.” He jabbed a quill against the parchment. “The word you are looking for is Nox!” Gellert merely rose and responded: “It fits the purpose of what I aim for better. Umbra is latin for shadow. Umbraja is a spell to influence the shadows. The meaning is clear.”

“ _You cannot just make up spells!!!_ ”, yelled McCabe.

“Well, somebody must! Otherwise we would make no progress.” Gellert gestured as he imitated a floating feather. “We would still be levitating feathers or turn animals into cups.”

“Yes”, McCabe snarled and puffed his chest, “Educated, _pureblooded_ people must. Not _Half-Blood farm boys_ from Germany.”

“My father is a tailor.”

“Exactly!” McCabe jabbed his quill at the page again. “Change. The. Word!”

Lady Westenra approached them. She had heard the arguments. Giving Gellert an empathic look, the woman took the pages out of McCabe’s hand. “I shall be the judge of that, Mister McCabe.” Gellert cautiously approached her as the headmistress started reading. Her brows danced and she bit her lips. Gazing at the ring, she seemed to try to imagine what Gellert suggested on his parchment.

She then spoke: “So, you are purposing to let the shadows come alive and move the ring through them over the wall and right to you?”

Gellert nodded with a beating heart. “The shadows are everywhere”, he addressed Lady Westenra, “Is it such a stretch to use them?”

“That is ridiculous!”, called McCabe, clearly peeved at the attention Westenra gave the younger boy, “A self-made up spell! It can never work.”

“We shall see. Mister Grindelwald, do you think you can preform this charm?”

“I can try”, replied Gellert, “I have experimented with it enough to have a grasp on it.”

“Then begin”, demanded Westenra.

Behind him, McCabe made a face. Gellert narrowed his eyes. His shoulders tensed. Fingers gripping tightly around his wand, he felt the thorns cut into his palms. Blood ran over the Devil’s Berry wand, which eagerly drank the substance up, and with it, his magic.

Ignoring McCabe the best he could, Gellert calmly analysed what was in front of him. The ring was laying on the pillar’s top and the enchantments seemed to cover everything except the corner at the wall where the shadows were. All he had to do was let them take the ring and place it into his hand. Gellert examined how the shadows fell on the wall and took his place accordingly.

As he did this, he could feel Westenra’s look upon him. McCabe had been rude and disrespectful. Westenra was curious and calm, scanning every move he did. There was a glimmer of encouragement in her eyes. However Gellert knew Westenra would spot any attempts at cheating. Sometimes it felt as if her eyes were practically trained for that.

He rose his wand and pointed it at the shadows above the ring. In theory he had already managed to make them sentient and react to his touch like little cats. However now he had to make them do something very controlled. Something he had not yet tried before.

Moistening his lips, Gellert inhaled slowly, before he said: “Umbraja.” He could feel his magic swirl and a wave be sent out. Invisible. It graced the shadows and his ears were drowned in whispers so fine one could barely hear them. His vision blurred and almost blocked as the shadows took him among them. Whisks of smoke swirled before him. The world was distorted and large. The whispers filled his ears like the humming of bees, drowning everything out.

For a short moment Gellert was too overwhelmed to react. He had not often dive into the shadows. Their language – for this was what the whispering had to be – was foreign for him. Gellert knew he had to be able to express control over them despite this clear barrier.  _ Concentrate yourself, Gellert. This is no time to be confused. _ He thought he could already hear McCabe’s sneer.

In theory, this had to work. His wand arm moved. He felt his own mind glide through the shadows. He aided them, caused them to submit to his will. They swirled around him, danced like smoke in the wind. Finally their black coils wrapped around the ring. _ Pick it up, Gellert. Come on. _ His wand arm jerked around as he forced the ring upwards.

It felt as if he was in two places at once. In his own body, he watched the shadows dangle and move the ring around. In the shadows, he was pushing them around. They whispered and hissed, circling around the ring. It was not as heavy as he had feared for it to be. But it was difficult to make them move in the direction he wanted them to move. They wrestled for the ring and the way to go, uncertain if they should trust him. Several times Gellert feared the ring would drop and they activated the curses.

He was out of breath when suddenly something small and golden dropped into his hand. Gellert released the shadows from his grip at once. Gasping, he looked down at his hand. There, shiny and innocent, laid the ring he had worked so hard for. “It… it worked”, whispered Gellert and a feeble laugh escaped him, lips cracking into a smile, “It worked!”

Westenra approached him. “Gellert”, she said and smiled, “This was a brilliant charm. Maybe not yet perfectly executed, but with a bit of mentoring, this could become a really great spell. You truly do have a lot of potential.”

“Wait a minute!” McCabe rubbed his chin and came closer. “Are you saying what I think you are saying?” His eyes narrowed. His face showed clear disdain as he seized Grindelwald up and down.

Lady Westenra elaborated: “Gellert Grindelwald, I would like to make you my own, personal pupil here at the school.” She gave Gellert an affectionate smile. McCabe gasped in anger.

The blonde student blinked.  _ Personal pupil… at the school… _ His brain took a bit to grasp the full meaning of the words. Then, probably very inappropriate, Gellert jumped around Westenra, a bright smile on his face and yelled: “Yes, yes, yes! Thank you so much!”

***

Percival and Albus met again in one of the corridors. The Director of Magical Security had spent the last few hours trying to move the conversations into the general direction of the topic on Gellert Grindelwald. Still, getting valid information had been a challenge. It was clear the students did not like talking about Grindelwald.  Moreover their information had been convoluted and almost contradictory on occasions. It seemed as if somebody had decided to whip off all clues way before they even had a chance to arrive.

“So, did you find anything out?” Percival carefully sat down before Albus. They were leaning against a large column, from which hung a gargoyle, shaped like a cross between lizard and cat. 

The Professor slowly nodded. “Lady Westenra did tell me a few things.” He gave the Director a quick recap on what he had learned. With a sigh, he finished: “However she did not tell me  _ why _ Grindelwald was expelled. I tried finding it out. I probed as much as I could dare but she refused.”

_ Go figure. That worked out fine. _ Percival narrowed his eyes in anger. He ran his healthy hand against the stiff and crippled fingers of the broken one. “The knowledge on Grindelwald  in the student body is extremely sketchy. They honestly only know he is a dark wizard and always used as an example for how not to be too obsessed with dark magic and the want to change magic. They do know he got expelled, but they do not know why. He seems to be quite an enigma in this school. Almost like a scarecrow.  Someone used to scare children to behave. Like a myth instead of a real person. ”

Albus rubbed over his lips and chin as he paced up and down before Percival. The Professor was thinking out loud: “The students are clearly kept in the dark when it comes to Grindelwald. As much as the outside world is. We only know just the bare minimum. I think, it is even a wonder that we know he experimented. And Westenra refuses to speak of any details at all. But why would she do that? What is she hiding?”

At that moment a group of students raced past them. One of them yelled: “Watch out! Fauchender Felix is throwing sponges again!”

“What Felix?”, asked Percival. And the next thing he and Albus knew was a sponge flying through the air and hitting the wall opposite to them. Soap splattered around with a squash. Albus and Percival looked around in confusion. Then suddenly, there was a shrill, hissing sound and something large and furry swooped down upon them and raced past them, claws and fangs bared. Both Professor and Director screamed and staggered backwards, taken by surprise. They stared after the weird thing as it flew around a corner.

Percival almost lost his balance from the fast move.  He knocked against the wall with his shoulders and almost dropped his umbrella. “Mercy Lewis!”, he shouted as he got a hold of  it again, “What, by all the Founders of Ilvermorny, was that?!” He looked at Albus Dumbledore, whose face seemed to be a mixture of surprise, shock and intrigue. 

“That was either a really large cat or a very small, hairy ghost?”, responded the Professor.

He then suddenly began to hurry towards the direction that ghost had taken. “Wait!”, yelled Percival, “Not so” – Albus Dumbledore had already disappeared around a corner – “fast.” The former Director rolled his eyes and huffed. He gripped his umbrella and hobbled after Dumbledore, cussing as he did so. “Good job, Professor. Seems like somebody has forgotten I am a cripple. But no, Mister Impatient cannot wait.”

Percival had to run quite a bit to catch up on the Professor. They were chasing the odd creature down the halls and staircases. Finally in an old, unused classroom deep underground, both came to a halt. Percival was holding his side. Hobbling towards Albus, he rasped: “Mind indulging me… what that stunt… was about?”

Albus did not look at him as he answered. In fact, he was looking at something above them. “I have the feeling that our answer is here.” Percival shook his head in disbelief. He was about to ask what the Professor meant, when he understood.

“Do you mean whatever just flew past us has a connection to Grindelwald?”

“It is a stretch, but it is possible.” Albus rose his voice and tried to speak as gentle as he could: “Hello. Do you mind coming out? We just want to talk. We are not here to hurt you.”

A pair of greenish eyes opened in the darkness and a voice said: “No, you are here for information. That is all you want. Why should I come down? You’ll call me a freak.”

“We won’t”, promised Albus, “Just please come down.”

A sigh from near the ceiling. Then the ghost slowly came floating down. Light finally revealed the features of the stranger. Graves heard Albus gasp and even he could not help but involuntarily call: “Mercy Lewis, now I have seen everything!”

The ghost that hovered over the teacher’s desk was a student, not much older then twelve years. The face looked wrong on so many levels. As if somebody had cast a transfiguration spell and then suddenly stopped in the middle. Thick, black hair covered his face and nose. His eyes were larger then normal and were teary as if sunlight extremely upset them. The worst was the mouth. It seemed to be a half cat snout, nose connected with it. Long, white whiskers grew out of the sides and under his upper lip, Percival could see a pair of feline fangs. His ears still looked normal.

Percival’s stomach turned over. He had never seen a child… creature this disturbing. And that person was a ghost. Which meant he had died like this! It send chills down his spine and he could not help but stare in disgust. His broken hand seemed to sting extremely now. Parts of him wanted to leave this creepy ghost alone at once, however Albus clearly had no intention in doing so.

“Are you the Fauchender Felix?”

The ghost bared his feline teeth. “Do not call me that!”, he hissed sharply. His eyes flared.

“I am sorry”, said Albus quickly, “How are you called?”

The ghost dropped his head. Rubbing his hands over his arms, he finally admitted: “My name is Felix Schmied.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Felix.” Albus bowed politely. “I know this may sound weird, but could you tell us about...how do I say this?” He rubbed his neck nervously. “Your condition?”

“Condition puts this mildly!” Felix shot forwards and glowered at them. His teeth were bared and he almost seemed to snap at them. Albus and Percival staggered back. Eyes narrowing, Felix purred: “You are not from here, are you? You have come because you want to know about _him_. Many people have come to ask about him, but Westenra never tells anybody what happened.” His smile was smug and disgusted.

“You seem to know why.”

Percival just like Albus positively jumped backwards when the ghost lashed out at them: “Of course I know why! I am the reason Grindelwald was expelled. Or do you think I was born like this?” He jabbed a finger at his face, frowning in anger. It seemed he had always wanted to tell this somebody. “I was this man’s lab rat! Cursed and distorted into  _ this _ !!!”

He helplessly gestured towards his face with tears in his eyes. Percival noticed that even his fingers and hands were covered in fur. His nails looked long, almost claw like. His chest sunk. “There is still something I do not understand”, added Percival, “What did Gellert do to him? I get, he was doing some twisted experiment upon him. But how come he looks like  _ this _ ?!” He waved a hand at Felix.

Albus gave no reply. He stood there, hand on his lips as he seized the ghost up with the look of a scientist, who tried to understand the peculiar behaviour of a strange animal. “That looks suspiciously like a Maledictus Curse”, whispered Albus and his face had turned pale.

Percival and Felix shared confused looks. “Male-what now?”, asked Percival.

Albus explained shuddering: “The Maledictus Curse is a very dark field of transfiguration. Basically it slowly transforms the cursed person into an animal. Not in a fast and painless way like an Animagus does it. Nor in a fast and painless, repetitive way like a werewolf does. No, it takes a long time. Often months, years even. The victim feels how their bones bend, how fur grows out of their skin, how their faces changes. They cannot do anything as they are turned into the animal of the caster’s choice. Usually a bear or a wolf, sometimes a deer. You know the fairy tale  _ The Brother and the Sister _ ? Many wizard scholars, including myself, believe that this tale actually talks about a boy, having been turned into a Maledictus.”

He looked at Felix. “To make a long story short, this curse is very hard to reverse or stop. And once somebody is turned into an animal, being turned back is even more difficult. There are dozens of reports of witches and wizards that died trapped in the bodies of animals.” The ghost let out a terrified yelp.

Percival could not blame him. The curse description made his flesh crawl. It was a horrendous thing… He remembered how he had learned about dark magic in his training as an Auror. There he had believed nothing could be worse then the Unforgivable Curses. After all, the ministries made such big deals out of these curses, declaring that everybody using them ended up in prison in an instant.

The Unforgivable Curses were kindergarten stuff compared to this… This silent type of dark magic, that was like a parasite in you. This type of magic most Aurors could not break. Unless they were the unspeakable ones. The ones that dealt with the most shadiest and ugliest underbelly of that beast that was called the dark arts, rearing its many horrendous heads.

“There is one thing that confuses me”, confessed Albus, “This curse usually takes years until it completes itself. You are already in a very advanced state, Felix.” He shook his head in terror. “I can only assume that he was trying to find a way to make the curse go faster. After all, why wait years when you could make this terror happen in just a few months?”

Silence proved their ignorance to that question. Percival watched between the Professor and the ghost. Albus looked at the ghost and asked carefully: “Is there any more you would like to tell us?” The ghost shook his head. Pain was obvious in his face. Albus carefully nodded. “Thank you”, he said, “Your help means a lot to us.”

***

They slowly headed back towards the exit of the castle. Albus had blocked out everything else. He was moving slow ly . His eyes had darkened.  _ I cannot believe this. _ He had known that Gellert had been expelled from Durmstrang, but he had never expected for it to be this dark. No! He was lieing to himself. He was a fool! A stupid, blind fool! He had always closed both eyes when it came to Grindelwald.  Love makes you blind. He seemed to try to prove the saying in its most horrible way.

Stopping, he buried his face in his hand. Albus could not walk any more. He heard shuffling steps, the clink of the umbrella and Percival asked: “Professor?” Even while he was not looking at him, he could feel brown eyes try to reach into the depths of his soul. Albus was sure: Percival tried to be not too intrusive, but in parts it felt like this. Maybe because the other one was an interrogator by nature.

Albus finally broke down and half wept and called: “A child! Merlin’s beard! This was a child!” He shook and clung his hands into curls of red hair. The thoughts raced in his head as the face of Felix seemed to merge with the face of the man he had known so well. Known so well? This felt like a joke now!

The entire summer of 1899 felt like a joke now. His discovery in Bathilda’s house had already opened his eyes to the fact that there was more to Grindelwald then he had expected. Of course he should have expected that! Nobody had no past. Everybody had done something that had shaped them! The problem was that Gellert had hid so much of his past that it often felt like Albus had loved an idea instead of a person.

In fact, nowadays it had become even harder to recall the boy Albus had known. Whenever he tried it, the fact who Grindelwald was nowadays pushed itself before the fond memories, sucking any joy out of them, leaving them bitter and pale, void of colours.

He startled when Percival laid his broken hand upon the redhead’s arm. Albus stared down at it. The fingers were oddly deformed and the bones clearly had not grown back properly together, making middle-, ring and pinkie finger stiff. This was something Grindelwald had done. To a person, who just happened to be in his way. It made Albus’ stomach turn over.

“I know, Professor Dumbledore”, Percival said, “It is unbelievable and messed up. Only the lowest of the low would do something so barbaric!” The anger in his voice subdued and he crooked a sad smile. “You have never seen terrors of war probably. You have seen a dead body on a battle field. You have never seen the ugliness of this world. You cannot imagine it unless you have been there. I sadly am very used to this man’s action. I am shocked how early he started, but what he did feels very much in tune with how he treated me.” His face visibly paled and he shivered.

Albus responded: “Still, for me it does not make sense. Why would he inflict such violence upon a child? Especially when he is a child himself!”

“Some people are just cruel because they can be”, stated Graves, “It is sad, but true. If you happen to be bigger or more powerful, there are some foul-minded, who will let others feel that. And in this school, strength seems to be vital. So I highly doubt he had any more reasons then to display his strength.”

Albus shook his head. No, he could not agree with that! As little as he knew about Gellert’s past, one thing he knew extremely well: The personality of the other one. Gellert was not a person to just display strength for the sake of displaying strength. At least like a brute did. So him randomly torturing a child with a very specific type of curse out of all things… Albus could not help it. There had to be a plan behind this. There had to be a reason. The Maledictus Curse was hard to preform. Grindelwald would not have done it just to show how powerful he was.

However he was sure, he could not convince Percival of this view. The other one’s opinion was set in stone, and Albus could not really blame him. He had been at the bad end of the stick. He had seen the worst of Grindelwald. The worst? Albus could not even picture what the worst meant. Nor was he daring to. Despite all that kept happening, he shut his eyes, clinging to the illusion of a relationship broken apart.

Albus feared what this self-decided mission would bring him. Yes, he would discover who Gellert truly was. However what was the price he had to pay for it? Was it worth it? Was the journey worth the destination? The destruction of whom he thought he had known. Sometimes it felt as if Gellert knew more about him then he did. And now with each new information, Albus was getting another piece of some gory, twisted puzzle he did not want to see the end result off.

“Professor”, Percival said, “We should get going. Lady Westenra will ask why we are still here. And honestly, I think we overstayed our welcome quite a lot.” He tightened his grip around his umbrella. The Director was waiting for Albus to continue walking.

The redhead sighed. “You go ahead, Mister Graves”, he requested, “I...need a few minutes to breath.”

There was a look of pity in Percival’s eyes. “Well, if you really need it, you know where to find me.” He then nodded and walked as fast as possible with his crippled leg towards the exit. Albus waited for him to be out of sight, before he slipped into the nearest, unused classroom.

This was a terrible idea! But he needed answers. And there was only one man, who could give them to him. And even though he shied the confrontation, his anger was stronger. And his disgust. He had not dare to voice it around Graves for fear of betraying his secret. But here in isolation, he could speak freer.

Albus pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. He reveal his Deathly Hallows tattoo. The dark triangle glimmered and moved under the muscles. Albus took a deep breath and laid his fingers upon the tattoo. Opening his mind, he drowned in sensations and smells, the familiar touch of one mentality reaching out for the other. Gellert’s own mind now felt less invasive as it usually did. Still, Albus could not help but feel a damp patch of shame upon his heart.

“ _Albus”_ , Gellert’s crooning voice caused him to shiver, however the Professor stood his ground. This was no time to yield to old temptations. “ _Long time, not seen. How are you?”_

Albus moistened his lips, even though he did not have to speak physically. _ I am alright, but I have not come here to have a mere chitchat. _ It was better if he got to the point at once.  _ I am at Durmstrang and I talked with your headmistress about you. _

There was a short moment of almost startled silence. Then Gellert’s voice came back, sharp like a knife:  _ “How dare you? Why are you talking with my headmistress about me? What makes you think you can just do that?!” _

_ The safety of the Wizarding World. _ Albus furrowed his brows.  _ You are endangering everybody with your pursuit. I am not going to claim to know why you are doing it. I thought I knew you. But I was wrong. _

Gellert laughed and it was a wheezing and angry sound:  _ “Verarschen kann ich mich selber! Bist du jetzt auf einmal ein Moralapostel? Was kommt als nächstes? Willst du sagen ich bin ein Sodomit?” _

The clear mockery and anger burned on his skin like hot iron. Albus closed his eyes. His lids quivered.  _ I never had a problem with your sexuality _ , he whispered,  _ And you know that. Calling you a sodomite would insult me equally. Do not bring in a sin we cannot be blamed for. I am not here to talk with you about this. _

“ _Then what do you want to talk about?”_ , Gellert sneered, _“It is very clear that you learned something you have to get off your chest. Speak your mind. Or are you even too cowardly to do that?”_

Albus was glad almost that Gellert allowed him to get back to the actual topic. He explained sharply:  _ I met a student in your school. He is a ghost and his name is Felix Schmied. _ His chest rose and fell and he gripped his wrist with the tattoo so tightly, his fingers would leave red marks upon the flesh. 

Through gritted teeth, Albus barked:  _ You used a Maledictus Curse on a student. No, not just a student. A child! You dared to curse a child so badly it died from what you did. You condemned him to the fate of a ghost! How could you do such a thing and not immediately feel instant regret? How could you dare it?! _

Gellert seemed to shrug.  _ “We all must suffer for greatness one way or the other” _ , he responded.

_ Greatness? _ Albus laughed bitterly.  _ Do you even hear yourself? There is nothing great about what you did! You are only after your own glory. How many people must die for you to satisfy it? _

Another short moment of silence. Gellert whispered:  _ “Funny, how you accuse me of seeking glory. There was a time when you were dreaming of it just as much as I did. There was a time where you agreed with what I did.” _

“I am past this youthful fantasy!” Albus did not realise how he was shouting until the words left his lips. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly to calm his beating heart. _I am not searching for glory any more. Don’t even try to twist my words! I am doing this for all the wizards that cannot stand up against you._ He felt tears sting in his eyes.

“ _And that you think gives you the right to search in my past?!”_ , Gellert replied sharply, _“Don’t lie to yourself. You are trying to become a glorious Siegfried. A hero. You are trying to get a hold of what is not yours.”_

_ I am only trying to understand you _ , Albus tried to defend himself,  _ I am only trying to learn who you are. You are hiding so much from me. I trusted you. But I cannot any more. _

“ _I did not hide things from you!”_ , called Gellert, _“Don’t be unkind. I trusted you with more then you will ever know. I shared with you my dreams and hopes for a better world. More then I did with anybody else. Is that more then you can ask for?”_

_ You shared an idea with me. You did not share who you are as a person with me. That is a difference. _

Albus dropped his head and let go of his tattoo. He began to pull his sleeve up again. His stomach was rumouring and his thoughts were turning around in circles. This search for the truth was laborious and not a nice business. He did wonder how much Gellert had hid from him. It felt as if he hid an entire person. And with learning about the Maledictus curse and Felix’s fate, Albus was not sure at all if he wanted to uncover the rest.

* * *

Translation: _Verarschen kann ich mich selber! Bist du jetzt auf einmal ein Moralapostel? Was kommt als nächstes? Willst du sagen ich bin ein Sodomit? = I can make a joke out of myself on my own! Are you now suddenly a moral apostle? What happens next? Do you want to say I am a sodomite?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are the only source of motivation and feedback a writer can have. I may not have made it clear but this project is extremely important to me as it is one of the longer ones I have not done in quite a while. So you make my day, if you were to comment on what you liked and where I could improve.


	11. The World's A Stage And We Are All Bum Actors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,  
> Chapter eleven has finally arrived. I would like to give a brief explanation as to why each chapters takes so long to be done. Now as you can see, they are quite long already on their own. However I also do the rewriting and reediting myself, which makes the process even longer. I do not want to finish a chapter as fast as possible. I want to finish it as best as possible.  
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this chapter.  
> Lots of love, Miss T

“Ouch.”

Credence felt Modesty’s worried gaze upon him. They were sitting at the table in Gellert’s home. After the riot, the black haired boy had finally found the time to actually look at the cut in his palm. The knife had struck deep, though the gash itself was not that long. Blood covered the skin. Now that the shock of battle had left him, the pain returned, siring and rearing its ugly head.

Credence’s hands were already incredibly sensitive. Ma had always hit him there. She had never allowed the skin to heal properly. Thus every cut, every bruise seemed to carry an intensity with itself other wounds on his body could not compare to.

The sensation of pain terrified him. Pain meant punishment. And punishment occurred when you had done something wrong. Had he ever done anything right in his entire life? “Right” in the Ma’s eyes? If so, he could not even count it off his fingers.

“That looks really bad”, said Modesty. Her fingers supported the back of his hand. Modesty was the only person Credence had ever allowed near his hands. She had been tending to his wounds, even though he never asked her to do it. Somehow she always knew when he had been injured and needed her care.

“Come.” Modesty took a clean rough and dipped it into the water of the sink. “Let me bandage it for you.” The cool rough caused him to hiss in pain. The wetness made him almost sigh in relief. 

Modesty squinted her eyes as she gazed at the cut. “There has to be a way to aid its healing process. Is there nothing in this house like medicine?”

She let go of Credence and started to search through the cupboards. Modesty spotted the first aid kit the same moment Credence did. “Wait, let me get –” Credence was about to get up, when Modesty suddenly jumped and Credence stopped in shock. “Whhaaaa!”, he called and stared up at her, “How? What? Why? How did you –?”

“Did what?” Modesty looked down and gasped. The girl sat on the top of the shelf. Clutching to the bag, she murmured: “Has to be a coincidence.” It did not feel like a coincidence. It did not look like a coincidence. How did she get up there? Credence did not understand that. He had never seen her do something like that! That should be impossible!

Suddenly she lost her balance and fell down the shelf. A yell escaped her lips and her arms flailed. “Modesty!” Credence rushed forwards. However before he had time to catch her, a swirl of magic wrapped itself around her, and she was gently lowered onto the ground. Landing on her feet, Modesty panted. Credence stared at her in disbelief. She seemed to be alright.

“There is no such thing as coincidence.” Gellert Grindelwald lowered his wand. He approached them. “Not when it comes to magic. Being spontaneous lies in its nature.” He curiously tilted his head at Modesty. “How old were you again?”

“Eight, Gellert.”

“Hmmm, that means your magic is still developing.”

Credence asked: “It...develops?” He tilted his head in confusion.

Gellert walked over to him. He levitated the bag of medicine beside him without using his wand or saying a word. He explained: “A child develops signs of magic around their first birthday. They float around. Make things move out of nowhere. Turn lights on and off. I used to cause glass to shatter. Modesty had the strong desire to reach this bottle, so her magic literally gave her a boost.”

Credence stared at his sister. He remembered all the odd events that had let him to being punished. Lights flickering. Things, slipping from a table out of nowhere. Doors, shutting and staying shut. Ma’s punishment taught him to avoid these signs. If he had only known.

Gellert had taken his hand. He looked at the gash. “How did this happen?” Picking up a small bottle with an odd label upon it called Diptam Essence, he took a pipette and began to drop the liquid into the gash. Fume rose from the skin and a stinging burn made his hand sing. Credence wanted to rip it out of the man’s grip, but Gellert barely tightened his fingers. He made a soft, humming sound. Credence groaned and squinted his eyes. His fingers twitched. When the smoke faded away, he spotted fresh skin in all the blood. His eyes widened. He stared at the bottle and then at the half healed wound again.

Gellert kept holding his wrist and repeated his question urgently. The words startled Credence and he finally confessed: “Blind Eye. The body snatcher. I do not know how but he is in London. And he tried …”

The words made Gellert almost drop the bottle. His eyes flared. The stars seemed to expire and the storm rose. “He did not –!”, the blonde wizard shouted and sprang to his feet. His hand seemed to go for the wand in the holster under his cloak. However he then restrained himself. Credence backed away.

Gellert asked Modesty: “Take care of your brother! Just apply a few more drops of the Diptam. I have to go.” He shoved the bottle into her hand. Credence and Modesty shared surprised and curious glances as the blond man spun around and raced outside.

***

“That move was unnecessarily cruel, Mister Toppclife.” Leonard Crouch, the Director of Magical Security, held the report in his hand. He was an imposing man with dark red hair, wearing a blue cloak and the emblem of the Ministry of Magic attached to his chest pocket.

“I do not quite see your point, Mister Crouch”, remarked Toppclife and clapped his gloved hands slowly, “I merely gave this man a taste of his own medicine. There is nothing wrong with that.”

“It is counterproductive. Intelligence wins this war, not violence.”

Toppclife’s brow jumped. “Idleness does not do us any good either, Mister Crouch.”

“The Minister knows what he is doing.”

The Chief Interrogator sneered. “He does not. We both know that.”

Crouch stepped into his path. He slowly folded the report and stored it in his inner cloak pocket. “I presume you have the answer then, Mister Toppclife?”

Richard’s grey eyes flashed. He strengthened his shoulders and rose his head. “Yes, I believe I do. Since nobody else bothers to do anything here.”

“I don’t think that this is true.”

“Then what are you doing?!” Toppclife took an aggressive step forwards.

“Fear mongering is not the right way either.”

Crouch and Toppclife turned their heads. It was a younger Auror, who had spoken. Brown curls, dark eyes and a vest, decorated with pearls and sequins. Earnest Crouch looked back at them and slowly rose a brow, lips twitching into a smile. Toppclife grind his teeth. Great! More people teaming up against him.

“How are we supposed to keep our people controlled if they do not know the consequences of what happens if they follow this monster?”, defended Richard himself, “He is infiltrating us with word and act, can’t you see that?”

“I believe, they are quite aware of the consequences, Mister Toppclife”, found Earnest, “This is not the Trudor Era after all. Though it seems you do not know the difference between that and the now.”

Toppclife’s hand twitched. The fingers hovered near his wand. Violence always worked. If Grindelwald used it, why shouldn’t they do the same?

“My nephew is right”, stated Crouch and from his tone this debate was finished, “Maybe you should look at your own paranoia.”

They halted as an Auror opened the door and two new people entered. A small woman, who practically disappeared in her pale blue cloak and hat, and a brown haired man in a leather jacket with a long, thin nose and a strong jaw. They stopped almost as if uncertain as to how to proceed.

Crouch walked up to them, followed by his nephew. Toppclife remained in the background and eyed them suspiciously. He did not like strangers coming in like that. They had no place here if they could not identify themselves. Besides Grindelwald’s spies could be everywhere. With that America fiasco even more then ever.

However Leonard seemed to have expected them for he called: “Ah, you must be Mister Tobias Oates and Miss Porpentina Gold –.”

“Tina is fine”, the woman interrupted him gently and bowed briefly.

Crouch smiled and corrected himself: “Miss Tina Goldstein. Welcome to England.”

“It’s a pleasure and a welcoming distraction to see our neighbours from the other side of the ocean”, said Earnest, “How are things in America?”

Tina gave a fast, fleeting look at Oates. The older Auror tensed. Toppclife barely took a step forwards. His head tilted aside. His grey eyes stared at both their faces as he systematically read them. Looked at the way the brows moved, the hints of sweat, pearls glittering on the forehead. Lips twitching. Nostrils flaring as the mind raced and seemed to look for a satisfactory answer.

Oates responded: “They are decent, considering circumstances.”

“Decent?”, repeated Toppclife and clicked his tongue.

“Yes!”, Tina’s voice sounded shrill for a few seconds. She shifted and clutched her sleeves. “Decent.”

Under Toppclife’s piercing gaze the younger Auror seemed to shrink back. She tried to hide behind Oates. “Of course”, Toppclife stretched the word and the brunette disappeared entirely.

Oates looked down at Tina and then merely addressed Richard: “We are doing our work as best as we can. Just like everybody else should.”

“And for that your country can be proud indeed.” Crouch’s look bore itself into Toppclife’s neck. The Chief Interrogator very slowly stepped back until he stood again behind his boss. He crossed his arms behind his back.

“You must be awfully tired from travel”, Earnest changed the topic with a warm smile, “Let me lead you to your rooms.”

***

“You are just on time.”

Toppclife stood at his table in his personal office. A large room with just the bare necessities of equipment. A glass shelf with a few folders in it. They were elegantly sorted and a silver, sterile grit shielded them from touch. Walls and floor were white and so polished, it seemed as if your reflection stared at you like a ghost. The air felt fresh and cold, even though the window was closed and the red curtains safely tucked away in golden ropes.

Toppclife was pouring red wine into a simple glass. He nodded towards a hard, red, wooden chair with a simple design. He sat in his own, deep red, leather chair with a broad back and simple cut legs.

Gabriel Grimmwood was standing in the doorway. Golden curls and mismatched eyes. The twenty-five year old man had always looked a bit strange when he approached him. “When am I ever late?” He sauntered over, even though each step seemed to echo in the room. Sometimes Gabriel halted for a few seconds as if the own sounds of his steps had become unbearable.

Gabriel took the glass of offered wine and turned it in his hand, however he did not take a sip. He tapped his leather boot on the pale floor, until the echoing grew so loud, he stopped almost like a startled child. Toppclife never had liked people, who made unnecessary noises.

He rose his own glass of wine. The Chief Interrogator now wore a red uniform with pearl mutt knobs. “Don’t you like it?”, he said in soft surprise, “This is my best wine.”

“I am not thirsty. Thank you very much.” Gabriel placed the glass back on the table.

Toppclife took a sip of his own glass and slowly put it on a small, dull black stuff platelet. “I need your special services, Gabriel.”

Gabriel scratched his upper lip, revealing his teeth for a few seconds. He dropped his hand, rubbing over his jeans. “I am listening.”

“There is somebody in London’s underground system I want you to find”, explained Toppclife, “A traitor, who has a remarkable gift.”

“Then he makes for a valuable asset, Mister Toppclife”, crooned Gabriel, “Might I ask whom you have this information to thank for?” He rose his brows and leaned just a touch closer.

“Mister Grimmwood” His teeth flashed into a smile. “This is strictly confidential.”

“Of course.” Gabriel slowly turned one of his gold rings around. He looked away from Toppclife, out of the window. “London’s underground is such a shady business, full of prostitutes, traffickers, gamblers and thieves.” Gabriel sighed. “I find it very hard to fit in.”

“Find him”, demanded Toppclife and drummed his fingers on the table, “The payment will be worth your trouble.” Gabriel looked aside, lips pulling into a grin. “Search London for a black-haired boy with a cut in his hand.”

***

Credence and Modesty had tried to kill time when Grindelwald had left them alone. They did not know where he had gone or when he would be back. Had he left because of Blind-Eye? Was he trying to kill him? For God’s sake, Credence should have kept quiet! That was such a stupid move!

His thoughts circled around the riot. The flashes and bangs were still in his head. Screaming people. And Modesty’s terrified face… The thought alone was enough to make his skin ache again. The boy shifted his weight and rubbed over his arm with a hand. Credence sighed. Lately, he felt almost constantly angry. Angry, bitter and scared all at once.

What had happened there? Why had the riot broken out? Gellert had given a loose explanation.

Something was hidden from them all. He did not know what it was. And he did not like it. The world was not as easy as Mary Lou had always presented it to him. There were not just the witches, the servants of the devil, and the good Christians. There were many different groups and they all fought over something.

But there was one thing he was now almost certain about: That lady in the subway, she had ordered him to be shot because of the very same reason the riot had occurred. He did not fit into the magical world. He was a freak. He was an oddity. A smudge upon a mirror. And like any cracks and spots, he had to be hidden. Or better destroyed. Eradicated as if his sin had never existed.

Credence had spent the last few hours staring outside of the small window. The apartment laid high above. He could see above the roofs of the houses and into the narrow streets. It was raining again. It always seemed to rain in London. Fog rolled between alleys of walls. Credence had followed a group of people with his eyes as they disappeared out of sight.

Modesty was playing hopscotch by the stove. While she no longer chanted the phrases against witches, the move was still the same. It was almost eerie how well Credence knew the chant that he could match her pounding feet to the lyrics. She had blocked out the whole world again. He sometimes envied her for this ability. How she could feel too much at once and then have stretches, where she felt nothing at all.

She had always been strange. Invisible in a way different from Credence. There were days, where Modesty would refuse to do something. Moments, when she seemed to be almost in a different world, unresponsive to anything anybody did. Credence had seen that Modesty had a very specific way of doing things. She would hopscotch more frequently then was necessary. Her speech was strangely monotone. She did not engage in social activity. She just watched and watched. As if she was listening to something in her mind.

Credence pushed himself away from the window sill and headed towards the table in the middle. As he slumped upon a chair, the black haired boy spotted a few parchments laying on a pile. Credence blinked. The handwriting was screwed and fast, sometimes very hard to read. Credence could read. Not perfectly, but he could.

_Our kind is a master of inventions, and it is no doubt marvellous. From self-writing quills, to anti-Doxy spray to Diptam Essence, we seem to have it all. Our brooms are getting faster and faster. Our cabs become more secure. Our owls are more reliable then ever. Indeed, progress is advancing fast._

_But it is not as good as it could be. Look at what the Muggles have done in the same time frame and it both fascinates and amazes me! They can talk with each other, even when they are not in the same place. They can lit up their houses as if they have caught the sun. They use writing devices unknown to us. But most of all, they crafted items meant for war!_

_Bullets and guns, gentlemen! Gun powder, electricity and iron. This is the magic of their world! It is moving fast and unforgiving, and it won’t halt anytime soon. In fact, it will only become worse. It will…_

The rest of the paper was left empty. As if somebody had not find the time to finish it. Credence stared at the parchment for a while. How could this continue? Whom was it meant for? Had Grindelwald written this? Then without realising what Credence was doing, he grabbed a pencil, dipped it in ink and began to work on the parchment. Changing the word amazes with intrigues, he moved on to the paper and in some kind of mad frenzy finished the speech.

Credence chewed on the pencil on occasions and mumbled words to himself as he tested the sound and rhythm of them to his ears. The pencil worked with clean and clear strokes as Credence added line after line. Compared to Grindelwald’s fast and fluent movements of the quill, Credence’s writing was sharp and precise like a sculpture, who dragged words into stone.

The sound and syllables danced around him, and he quickly picked out the ones that sounded good and arranged them. Credence never understood why speech was supposed to sound good. Or what people were trying to achieve with these talks. Like the Ma did. But he knew that words had an odd form of magic in themselves. They had been his own way of escaping long before Credence met Graves. He rearranged them into pictures and ideas. He drewhimself as somebody else. Somebody brave, strong and confident. Somebody people respected. Somebody, Credence could never be.

Credence had not heard Grindelwald enter. Thus he positively startled, when the blond man asked sharply: “What are you doing there?!” The pencil dropped on the floor and the tip broke off. Credence spun around. His heart beat fast. Fool! Why had he not kept away from the pages? Grindelwald would be mad at him!

“I am sorry”, called the boy and was not sure whether to crumble the pages or leave them in peace, “I did not mean to –”

“Give me that!” Gellert snatched the papers out of Credence’s grasp. His eyes widened as he stared at the page. He whispered to himself: “It will become a cascade of fire and smoke, a judgement day. We have to be ready for it or we all shall perish! Now, we can either stand down and let fate run its cause or we stand up and we fight! There is only one answer for all of us. If you are in, then get on board. For I am ready! Who’s with me?”

Gellert lowered the pages. “I did not write this part. Did you write this, Credence?”

“I am sorry!” The words came tumbling out of Credence’s mouth. He rose his hands, fearing a slap, a push, anything! His body crouched down and his voice seemed to rise in pitch. “I did not mean to… I just saw it, and it felt so empty and unfinished. I just had to complete it, Sir. I just had to. I promise, I will not do it again. Please don’t be mad at me, Mister Grindelwald.”

“Bullocks, Credence!” Gellert laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That is brilliant! I had no idea you are this good with rhetoric. How did you learn that?”

Credence blushed upon the praise. That was nice. Unexpectedly nice. Nobody had ever said that Credence was a good writer. Hell, he himself did not see it that way. Most of the time Credence did not know what he was doing. “I had to listen to Ma’s speeches”, he confessed, “All of them. Even those she never hold. I just know what works and what does not. There’s nothing special about that.”

Gellert was panting and stared at him with a look that seemed almost akin to hunger. “Du wunder, wunderbares Wunderkind!”, he whispered and rose a hand, brushing his palm against Credence’s cheek (which gained a deeper, purple shade), “Du bist ein Genie. Mit deinen Künsten als Schreiber und Obscurus steht mir nichts mehr im Weg.”

Credence did not understand what was being said. He only got that it had to be praise. He smiled shyly, unsure how to respond. Gellert slowly folded the paper and stuffed the square into his inner cloak pocket. “Well done, Credence Barebone”, he said and called over Modesty. Looking at both children, who stared at him with eyes wide in excitement, Gellert announced: “We are going to try how the masses will react to your words tonight. Who wants to go to the theatre with me?”

“I want to!” Modesty cheered and she threw her arms around Credence, who staggered in his spot. He gazed at his little sister, who was positively beaming upon the idea. His heart too beat in excitement. Credence had never been to a theatre before. Mary Lou never allowed them to see those snares set by the devil to catch people’s souls. Credence hugged his sister as he too could no longer contain his joy. “Thank you, Grindelwald!”

***

Gellert took them to a place he called Globe Theatre. Credence had never heard the name before, however from the way he said it, it seemed to be an important place. Leading them down the shore of the river, they finally came across the theatre. Credence’s jaw dropped.  _ It is so big. _ He had never seen a building like it. Now New York had towering houses, but they all had breathed modernity.

The Globe did not breath modernity. Instead it whispered of the past. The building was round and tall, had white walls and wooden bars encased in it. There was a flock of people, coming in and out of it. Credence looked at it in awe. This was a theatre? It was so strange and imposing. And they were going to this place! Excitement rushed through him and his steps became bouncing as Credence followed Grindelwald and Modesty, however he could not help but stare at every minor detail.

The alley they entered was shady. Muddy water in little ponds. Some dropped into a barrel from a pipe of the opposite house. On the walls of the theatre were posters plastered, promoting  _ Othello _ ,  _ Doctor Faustus _ and  _ Edward II _ . Credence had never heard of either of those plays, leave alone the names of the poets, Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare. It was just another reminder how little he knew of the outside world. Mary Lou had kept them all sheltered and only taught them what she deemed the bare necessities.

Gellert rose his hand and knocked against the door at the side. It was opened with a creek. Credence shrunk back and hid himself behind the blond man. The figure before us was dark, imposing and bulky. He looked like he could throw a man twice Gellert’s size. “What?”, the stranger snarled.

Gellert crooned: “We would like to talk with Mendax.”

The stranger stared at them one by one. Credence shrunk back even more. Modesty chewed on her lips. Her face was stoic. Credence could not say what she was thinking. However she remained calm, so he too tried to calm his beating heart. If there was an actual danger from a person, his sister usually picked it up fast enough. Besides they had Gellert with them. They should be fine.

“Come in.” The man shoved us inside. As soon as they entered the backstage of the theatre, Credence’s fear quickly was replaced by another wave of awe. The place was so colourful and strange. People rushed around. They wore clothes that seemed to come out of another time or even fairy tale. Sabres rattled. Somebody was turning a golden cub between his fingers. Another person rechecked a large, odd hat with a feather in a mirror. The place buzzed with life. Snippets of conversations reached Credence’s ear. Some were reciting poetry. And it sounded so pretty and unique. Credence had never heard such usage of phrases. They painted a whole different picture into his head then Ma’s speeches did. He liked the picture.

There was another feeling he could not quite make out. A prickling upon his skin like wisps of electricity or smoke. It touched something deep inside of him, which with great terror and amazement Credence realised had to be the Obscurus. Ever since that thing inside of him had a name, it felt closer then ever. Credence could feel it constantly move inside of his guts, whisper and hiss. It seemed to follow the stream of his blood, the beating of his heart. Credence thought he could now even decipher when it was more calm. Still he was miles away from controlling the creature inside of him. It still caused him a sense of fright and dread.

Modesty whispered: “This place is full of people with and without magic. What are we doing here, Grindel –?”

Gellert turned his head and whispered: “This is not my name around these people.”

Credence felt his hair stand on edge. What had they gotten themselves into? What game was played here? By what rules? Were they participants? Or pawns?

The members of the theatre were eyeing the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and mistrust.

“What are we doing here, Grimmwood?” Credence was grateful, he remembered the other one’s second name.

Gellert’s lips pulled into a winning smile. “We will let your name be known, my boy. You wanted to be a part of our world. This is your moment, Credence Barebone.”

Credence gulped anxiously.  _ This does not feel like something I feel comfortable being a part of! _ He had never really liked crowd. Crowds made him invisible. And now Grindelwald wanted to drag him into the light. Before hundreds of people he did not know. And do what? Credence had no idea. The Obscurus hissed and cold wetness ran down his back.

Modesty closed her fingers around his hand. She squeezed it gently. The touch made him relax, but only minimally. He still did not like where all this was going. Credence sighed. Whatever Grindelwald was planning, it was not like they had any choice unless participate. And who knew? Maybe this would actually be fun.

The doorman came back. He addressed Grindelwald: “Master Mendax can talk with you now.”

“Excellent! Come on, you two!”

Credence and Modesty shared cautious looks, before they followed Grindelwald upstairs. In a small, crammed up office full of papers, books and pamphlets for plays, they were greeted by a lanky, maroon man with curly, black hair, a pointy face and emerald eyes. He was wearing a long, deep red cloak with two golden buttons upon it. Credence noticed that he had woven several strands of colour into his hair. By the holy trinity! This man truly was weird. He was a living epitome of everything Ma hated.

“Why?!” Mendax called and spun around, giving them a smile that could have honoured a sabre tiger. “Master Grimmwood!” He flitted over to them with steps as graceful as a cat and took Grindelwald’s hand. Breathing a quick kiss upon it, he stepped back, arms spread and purred: “Lovely to see you again!”

Gellert smiled. “A pleasure to keep you company, Mendax.”

Mendax chuckled and walked over to his table. “Now onto business, Sir”, he crooned, “You clearly came here, because there is going to be a little change in today’s routine, isn’t? What’s it gonna be? Longer time? Music? Maybe a few fog effects, so your entrance is more magnificent? Name it, Sir, and I’ll tell you the price you must pay.” He rubbed his hands together.

“None of that, Mendax”, responded Gellert and slowly sat down opposite to him. 

The other one rose a brow, so black it seemed he had drawn over it with a pencil. His lips pulled up into a smirk. “You are making me curious, Sir. What are you up to, Master Grimmwood?”

Gellert waved Credence over. The boy turned scarlet. No, no, no! Don’t look at me like this. He did not want to be pulled into this conversation. Whenever Ma put him on the spotlight, it never was for a good reason. So attention was like a poison for Credence. Gellert inclined his head calmly. Cautiously, Credence approached both men. This was like stepping into a pit of vipers. Gellert planted a hand upon his shoulders.

“This young boy here has written a little part of today’s speech. I think, he deserves proper credit, now doesn’t he?”

“That pimp wrote some of your speech?!” It was not Mendax, who had spoken. It was a man with messy brown curls and a beard. He wore battered clothes. Standing before a few plays, he scoffed. “Right! And I am the king of England.” His voice was rough and rude and it startled Credence quite a bit. He looked at the man curiously, however as soon as the fellow stared at him with such unmasked jealousy, the boy wished he could sink into the ground.

“Now, now, Cauillando”, responded Mendax, “There is no need to be this rude. I know, you usually overlook some of Grimmwood’s work, but really. Let the little chap have his moment of fame, will you?”

Cauillando scoffed. “Who is this pimp anyway?!”, he asked, “I do not recognise his face.”

Credence blushed even more. Usually he was invisible. Now he was all too visible and the focus of an argument. Not really a good switch for his invisibility. However he knew he could no longer hide and pretend to be invisible. Hell, all his life he had wanted to be seen, to be recognised. He now had to be able to deal with the consequences of that. And well, he was tired of hiding. He was tired of hiding his thoughts and his emotions.

Credence looked up and said loud and clear: “My name is Credence Barebone.”

Cauillando blinked, while Mendax smirked in amusement. The other man snorted. “Barebone? Never heard of your family. Whom are you supposed to be?”

Gellert’s hand landed on his shoulder and Credence gasped at the heaviness of the touch. Fingers caressed his neck and Gellert stared at Cauillando as he explained: “Credence is my protégée and so is his sister.” The others took in breaths. Credence blinked in surprise. Modesty made a funny noise in the background.

Protégée. Credence would have never assumed that Grindelwald would use such a term to describe him. Especially what was it, that he could offer? He was not a fighter. He did not know a thing about the world, and from the way Grindelwald moved around these shady figures, he clearly felt at home and was in no need of support. So what was it that he wanted?

Mendax smirked and snapped his fingers. “Well, I say if the boy appears on stage, we shall see what this is all about. I am most definitely looking forward to it.”

***

Credence cautiously hurried downstairs after Grindelwald. He was confused and unsure. A speech in a theatre. How was this even supposed to work? Moreover they intended to drag him on the stage! He had never been on a stage. What if Credence messed it up? He had never talked before people!

Moreover this Mendax made his flesh crawl. He was just creepy and greedy. How he ensnared them all. It almost felt as if he was expecting Credence to preform some kind of trick. Was he waiting for him to fail? Make a complete fool out of himself? Were they all waiting for that?

The backstage had become even more busy if that was possible. Actors rechecked their clothings. Somebody was angrily waving a parchment around, proclaiming he could not read a certain line. They watched the actors prepare for the play that was about to begin.

Credence approached Grindelwald. “Mister Grindelwald”, he asked, “Why are we here? What is the use of this? It is not just for entertainment, isn’t it?” By now he could dare to make an educated guess that none of Grindelwald’s trips were just done for entertainment. He always seemed to be after something. However what that was or why he was doing that, Credence still could not really say. Though deep down, he had the feeling it had the same roots with the reasoning of the elegant lady for killing him.

“The wizards in this theatre are working with Muggles. It is sort of a tradition. You see, two of the major poets of that time were actually wizards: Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare. Merging of two communities is normal. But the Ministry does not see it that way. They made those wizards lawless. Homeless and without any chance of getting connections. They may have Muggle money, but wizard money or wizard luxury… They have none of that.”

Gellert slowly laid his hand on Credence’s shoulder. He explained as they headed towards the stage: “That is why we are here. To change people’s mind.” Stopping by the deep red curtain, Gellert smiled and pried it open just a slit. Credence’s eyes widened. Dozens of people stood in the pit and more sat in the balconies. They were curiously chatting with one another. It was not the first time that Credence had seen such a big crowd. Still, the amount made his heart jump for a few seconds.

“Are those all wizards?”, he asked quietly and looked at Gellert.

“Yes. Dozens and dozens of them. Of all classes and rank.” Gellert smiled and his eyes seemed to glimmer in delight. 

Credence felt a lump stuck in his throat. “Mendax said I was supposed to speak before this crowd”, he whispered, “He did not mean that literally, right? I mean, I have never ever held a speech. I do not know how to do that. It is gonna be a disaster.”

Gellert laughed. “You won’t be the one holding the speech. However you will still appear on stage.”

“But whose –?”

A finger placed itself upon his lips. “Hush”, whispered Gellert, “Wait and enjoy the show.”

Steps came down the latter again. Mendax and Caulliando came rushing downstairs. The actors all rose their heads and waited. Mendax called: “Alright! Canon is in three minutes. Everybody get ready. Let’s give them what they are all waiting for.”

***

The play they showed this evening was  _ Othello _ by William Shakespeare. Gellert and the Barebones stood behind the curtain and watched the events unfold. The actors were all doing an excellent job. On occasions some of the wizards, working backstage, cast a few illusion spells to create thunder, rain, the sound of waves or smells. The crowd hung to everything, cheering and booing, enraptured in the performance.

However the actual spectacle had hardly started. As everybody observed the actors, Credence and Modesty too enraptured by the performance, Gellert quickly walked back towards the side exit. He had to solve the little task Toppclife had given him. And frankly some people had just overstayed their welcome. Time to play dirty.

Standing there, Gellert looked around, before he spotted a boy in the street. “Hey, you! Yes, you! Come over.” The boy hurried to him. He was a lousy street rat with long, dirty hair. Gellert reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a few sickle. Holding the money out towards the boy, he said: “I want you to deliver a message to Richard Toppclife’s house. Whose house?”

“Toppclife’s.”

“Tell him that Grimmwood has what he seeks. What are you to say?”

“What he seeks.”

“Good.” The money changed hands and Gellert waved the boy away. “Now off you go.”

When Gellert returned back to the theatre, the play had barely begun. Stepping besides the Barebones, Gellert could tell they had not noticed him leaving. They watched Othello and the others arrive at Cyphrus. They play kept them all enraptured. Almost hypnotised. As they stood there and observed, the blonde wizard felt an odd tingle in his neck.

It was Cauillando, who stared at them from the other side. Gellert sauntered over. “What?”, he inquired, “Is it now forbidden for people to admire a scene from the backstage?” The blonde wizard stared down at the scribe, who did not even blink. Cauillando crossed his arms and pouted.

He hissed out of the corner of his mouth: “I saw that you left the theatre for a few seconds. What have you been doing, Grimmwood?”

“I highly doubt this is of your concern, now is it? What if I told you I just wanted a bit of fresh air?”

Cauillando scoffed and furrowed his brows. He was about to reply, when the canon sounded again, announcing a break just after Iago had convinced Othello to make him second-in-command in the army. Gellert smirked. Now would follow his great moment.

The reaction towards the appearance of the actors on stage was nothing compared to the moment Gellert appeared. The crowd positively went wild. They stomped and clapped. Cheers filled the air. A hypnotic chant of his name. “Grin-del-wald! Grin-del-wald! Grin-del-wald!” Each syllable seemed to carry him higher and higher. Gellert closed his eyes briefly and slowly rose his arms into the sky.

The calls got louder and louder. For a short moment Gellert bathed in the sounds, in the feeling of intoxication and power. The Ministry was so struggling to keep him at bay. The rockstar was doing his show, and the wizards flocked to him positively. They were like a pack of wild dogs, hoping to get a slice of bloody meat from a stranger’s hand. And for that they would do everything, so foolishly trusting.

Gellert laughed and called: “Okay, shut it, everybody! Quiet. Quiet! Calm down, Kinderchen.” The cheers and calls slowly died down. Dozens of eyes, filled up to the rim with anticipation, were looking up at him. Gellert smiled and stepped towards the edge of the stage. The flash light of the theatre followed his move and the dim light reflected itself upon the sequins on his vest. The thick, black leather was richly embroidered, forming skulls in a way that one could only tell if one knew they were there.

Now that Gellert had all the attention he desired, he finally began to speak: “Ladies and Gentleman, folks, friends. I am so pleased to see you all here. I hope, you all enjoyed the play Othello so far and you will continue to enjoy it. I am sure, you all noticed the wonderful effects used in this performance. Let me assure you: These effects are signs of our marvellous inventions. From which we have quite a lot, I like to assume.”

And with these words, Gellert launched into his actual speech. He had done this countless times. His words held just the right pronunciation and articulation. He knew how to make what had been said on paper come alive. From the wonders of the magical world to the miracles and mysteries of Muggle technology. It seemed as if people could smell oil in the air and see gas lights.

As Gellert spoke, he slowly walked up and down the stage, half turning his body to the audience. His face was alive as he portrayed everything with vivid language and surprising accuracy. His hands were gesturing around as if he caught elements from the air. They clung to his lips, listening. Some people even nodded and a few murmured agreements.

Finally Gellert reached the part of the speech that Credence had written. Would people realise that this had not been written by him? How would they respond? The last part of a speech was the most important thing. It was what people took home with them. It could make or break his view.

The audience seemed to have become even more alert. Gellert rose his voice a bit as he hammered down each sentence. The religious elements made some older witches and wizards reach into their pockets and pull out little crosses they had been carrying with them. While most witches and wizards had no religion, some still followed Christianity. They sighed and clutched their crosses to their chest, nodded and murmured their agreement and approval.

Gellert stopped in the centre of the stage again. He lowered his voice a bit as he whispered: “There is only one answer for all of us.” He clutched his fingers into fists and drew out the Elder Wand. “If you are in, get on board.” With a loud call, he whipped the wand up into the air and send a twisted bolt of lightning up, which transformed itself into fireworks.

Colours of red and gold and blue and green and silver exploded and chased each other. The audience looked up and wooed in adoration. The fireworks very subtly formed the emblem of the Deathly Hallows for a couple of seconds. Gellert shouted: “For I am ready! Who is with me?!”

“WE ARE! WE ARE READY!” The roar that filled the globe theatre was louder then anything else that had come before it. Eyes were flaring in passion, anger and excitement, faces distorted into willpower and determination. The wizards drew out their wands and rose them all in union. Sparks and flashes of lightning were sent into the air as the crowd cheered, drunken on a triumph that had not even occurred.

Gellert slowly bowed as applause drowned him. The moment of unity was gone and now the moment of praise followed. They all wanted to honour him and his skills as a speaker. Gellert laid his finger on his lips and with a sharp “Hush” silenced the crowd yet again. They gazed at him in quite curiosity.

“As thrilling as you all found that speech, I am afraid I have to tell you something”, confessed Gellert and for a brief moment he looked at Credence and Modesty, who stood next to the curtain. “That last part of the speech was not written by me, but a young upstart. A mere pup, full of curiosity and potential. Bitte, meine Damen und Herren, reicht dem Welpen die Hand: Mister Credence Backbone!”

Credence cautiously stepped forwards. The audience looked the black-haired boy up and down. Then they exploded into another choir of cheers and applause. Credence gasped. For a short moment he seemed startled. Then cautiously the boy took a step forwards and spread his arms. “Woooohooooo!”, he called and tried to mimic Gellert’s gracious bow as they all applauded him.

Gellert was smiling brightly as he watched the boy bath in his moment of glory, blow hand kisses and just look more alive. It seemed like if you gave Credence the chance and ability to be seen, he could become a lot more confident. This could use some work. Credence had shown that he was good with rhetoric. Now what if he learned to deliver everything properly? The Obscurus, the symbol of oppression, talking about freedom and spreading his cause?  _ Gellert Grindelwald, you are a bloody genius! _ D _ as ist ein Meisterstreich! _

As Gellert looked over the cheering and howling mass, he suddenly noticed a dark figure rushing into the theatre. Grey hair and a hawklike nose. Toppclife. He had come just on time. Waiting for the other man to make eye-contact, Gellert slowly nodded to signalise he should come to the backside of the stage. Now he had to act very quickly.

The blonde wizard turned around and walked back to the side behind the deep red curtains. There he met Cauillando. “You cheated”, snarled the scribe, “That boy did not say a thing. And who is to say that this last part was really written by him? It could have been just you. So that brat has no reason to stand on the stage. It should have been me! I have been rewriting your speeches ever since you made the pact with Mendax!”

Gellert smiled almost apologetically. “Please, Cauillando”, he crooned and placed a hand on his back, leading him away from the stage. “I would not dream of cheating on anybody. And of course I know how much you did for me. And to show my appreciation, I would like to give you a far greater role.”

They stopped. By now they were almost hiding in the area, where the costumes hang. Gellert let go of Cauillando’s shoulder. He stopped inches before him. His voice lowered into a mere whisper: “Give me your hand.” Cauillando stared at him in confusion as he placed his hand in his palm. Keeping eye-contact, Gellert slowly and gracefully raised a knife in his other hand. The blade jabbed itself into Cauillando’s palm.

The scribe howled and buckled over. Nursing a deep, dark gash, he shouted: “Have you lost your head?”

Gellert rose his shoulders and arms, bloodied knife in hand, as he shrugged. “We all must suffer for greatness one way or the other.”

“You are a downright lunatic.”

“Shut up! Here, let me bandage it for you!” Through gritted teeth, Gellert grabbed the wounded hand and wrapped a napkin around it, securing it with a simple knot.

At this moment the troop of Aurors and Toppclife stormed into the room. Gellert stared at the Chief Interrogator. He nodded at Cauillando. “He struggled and the wound opened again”, the dark wizard remarked.

Toppclife made a harsh gesture with his wand hand. Ropes floated out in mid-air and tied themselves around his wrists. Cauillando let out a startled cry. “What...what is going on here?”, the scribe stammered as two Aurors of the team stepped forwards and grabbed him by the elbows, pulling him on his feet.

“You know fully well why you are under arrest”, remarked Toppclife coldly.. He waved his arm. Another sign for the Aurors to march out.

“No!”, yelled Cauillando, “You’ve got the wrong man! He is a lunatic! A lunatic!” His screams faded away as the Aurors left the theatre through the side entrance. Toppclife followed shortly after he had handed Gellert a bag with coins. His fee for delivering the criminal to them.

Gellert stored the purse away. Now that this was done, he only had to make sure people remembered Credence. Stepping through the curtain, he could see that the applause had not really slowed down. Credence still stood there, waving and smiling to himself. He looked a lot more confident on this stage then he had ever been around Mary Lou. Somehow that new emotion was almost attractive on him.

Gellert walked up towards the boy. A confident smile curled upon his lips. It was time to paint a new picture for the audience. Closing his fingers around Credence’s hand, he rose their hand in union and shouted: “You owe me your life, Credence Barebone!”

Credence stammered: “Then the debt is small. I have never felt more alive.”

“A small debt, yes, but it is a debt nonetheless”, Gellert murmured almost absent-mindedly.

He then unleashed another cheer and upon his call, the crowd drowned them in more cheers and praise. Gellert let go of Credence’s hand and clapped louder then ever, a bright smile on his face. This was too perfect. Gellert now had another public face the audience would associate with rebellion and injustice. Credence was the epitome of hope. Everything everybody dreamed and wanted. And the boy had such potential. Gellert could almost see the grapes ripe before him. Time to pluck them and turn them into the most intoxicating wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are keeping me motivated and inspired to continue this story.


	12. Dream A Little Harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,  
> I finally managed to finish the editing and writing of chapter twelve. Once again we have Credence, exploring the confusing secrets of Grindelwald, while Tina is an idiot. But then when is she not?   
> As always enjoy reading.  
> Yours, Miss T.

The fires in the iron plates were throwing quivering shadows across the room. Upon Toppclife’s orders, the Aurors had carried a large table into the barren interrogator’s room. Together with a meal, that must seem oddly luxurious for a prisoner. Steaks, roasted potatoes and fresh salad.

Toppclife sat on one side of the table and the scribe on the other. He had been locked up in a prison cell in the solitary confinement section. Toppclife of course could just throw the man into Azkaban. But then that would be like shooting himself into his foot. He needed Cauillando at his wits and with a sound mind. Not some wreck, which dropped out of Azkaban like a ragdoll.

The Chief Interrogator was balancing his fork on his fingers. He was wearing the deep red uniform and black gloves. He smiled at Cauillando. “Please, do take what you want. I am sure, you must be hungry and this steak is exquisite.” He cut a piece of it and ate it.

“I am sure it is...”, stammered Cauillando. His hair was a mess and he was only wearing a simple , dirty white shirt. There were rifts in it and dark stains. His face was pale. The eyes deeply sunken in. “I am not very hungry, Sir”, he continued hastily, “But I do appreciate it.”

“Listen”, crooned Richard, “If you are honest and plain with me, I will be as gentle as a lamb.”

Was Cauillando shivering? From the cold? Maybe from fright? It was hard to tell. But frankly Richard did not bother. He only needed to focus on one thing. Get the information, he so desired.

“What is it that makes you so special to Grindelwald?”

“I do not know”, stammered the scribe, “I have never met –”

“Then where is Grindelwald?”, Toppclife cut him short.

“I do not know.”

Richard lowered his head. He drummed his fingers on the table. “Then how come my source told me a Fanatic is in London right now? With a cut in his hand?”, he inquired and smiled at Cauillando. “Would you mind showing me your hand again?”

The scribe grew pale. His arm trembled as he offered Richard his hand. The Chief Interrogator took it in a gentle grip. Turning the arm upside down, he revealed the palm. Raising the bandage, his grey eyes stared upon the bloody gash. “Where is Grindelwald?”, Richard asked again.

Cauillando had tears in his eyes. “I don’t know!”, he called, “I don’t know, Sir. Please…” Why did they always have to make it so complicated? Why was the truth like a flower hidden under filthy thorns, which you had to rip out first? You could not burn down the entire bush. It would only damage what you wanted to know. You had to approach it with just enough force to cut off any defiance and resistance, so you could get what you wanted.

Richard slowly smiled. He addressed a group of Aurors, who stood at the far end of the room: “Gentlemen, would you mind? It seems our guest is tired of sitting.” These words alone seemed to cause another panic attack in Cauillando as he started to scream and trash, but the Aurors restrained him with ease and dragged him into the actual interrogation room.

Toppclife rose and slowly followed. It was time to trim the bush.

***

Happy. Credence had forgotten when he had last woken up feeling happy. He had barely known it when he lived under Mary Lou’s care. Only in short and careful doses. When Modesty stole a biscuit from the kitchen, which they shared upstairs. Playing in the snow in winter and catching the flakes, making them melt on the tongue. Managing to read a book in secret, which was not the bible, even though being caught always meant the beating was especially severe. Hell, there was even a time Credence had associated Graves with happiness before he had turned on him.

Thus waking up today and feeling happy was a wonderful feeling. Credence laid in the bed and stared up the ceiling, hugging the blanket. A blissful smile was on his face as he recounted the last evening. How they had praised him for this small part he had written. Credence knew it was not as much as Grindelwald had written, but that did not matter.

They had applauded him for what he had written. It felt so surreal. Never before in his life had he been truly seen by others, least of all so many people. Usually Credence had always been invisible, and if people did notice him, their reaction was less then friendly. They would shove him away, some snarled, a few even made rude comments. His stomach still turned over as Credence remembered how Henry Shaw Jr. had insulted him, simply because he looked like a freak to him.

The thought made the Obscurus briefly flare up in him. However Credence fought the flame down and just focussed on what had happened at the theatre. The positive reaction of the people had taken him by surprise. It was a nice change to be seen not as a freak, but as a person with some talent. Credence always had a big imagination. It was his only way to escape Mary Lou by dreaming up something that could never be. He even had written a few things down, and whenever Credence felt terrible, he read these small stories. Modesty loved them.

Thus being on that stage… It had been like being under shock. A fascinating and mad shock. Every fibre of his being had been set aflame and Credence had felt invincible. Not because of the Obscurus inside of him, but because of his own word…

There was a quiet cough at the door. Credence turned his head. In the dull light he could barely see Gellert Grindelwald standing there. His golden locks now had the colours of pale straw. The shadows played upon his skin and leaked out of his eyes as if he was their best friend.

“Are you awake?” He spoke quietly as to not to wake up Credence’s sister. Modesty laid in the blanket burrito. She was peacefully sleeping. Credence could see her chest raise and fall. He smiled and brushed some of her hair aside.

Looking back at Gellert, he cautiously climbed up out of the bed. “I am”, Credence whispered back, “Why?”

He smiled. “It’s a beautiful day outside. Let’s go out for a little stroll.”

***

Gellert took Credence to Hyde Park. The heart of London was an oasis of green, sunshine and flowers. Birds chirped. Bees buzzed over blossoms. People were walking by and the air smelled less of modernity. A soft breeze was carried from Hudson river, which caught itself in the leaves of oaks, marbles and apple trees.

His boots left dark imprints upon the sandy paths as the blonde wizard walked besides Credence. The boy walked a bit ahead of him, smiling from ear to ear. He seemed to really enjoy this new taste of freedom and liberty. Gellert could not fault him. He had been so oppressed by Mary Lou that probably even the right to go where he wanted to was completely new to him. Gellert decided to allow him to enjoy the park, before he would speak to him.

Liberty. Gellert wanted to give Credence a very good taste of it. Of course such generosity never came without a bit of demand. After all gratitude was its sister and thus the giving of favours came easy. All Gellert had to do was stir Credence into the idea of giving something back.

Gellert had already known that in Credence he had found the perfect weapon. A destructive force, wrapped inside a mortal core of vulnerable human flesh. But now things had begun to change. This situation at the theatre had opened a possibility Gellert had not expected. He would be a fool not to use it!

“The weather is nice, isn’t it?” He waved a hand and between his fingers a small lily grew. It opened and closed its blossom multiple times. This fairly silly magic trick was enough to catch Credence’s attention. In regards to magic, he was so easy to impress. Marvelled at the smallest signs. Gellert had seen how he had observed him doing his work. Though Credence had not yet seen what magic could really do. _Alles zu seiner Zeit, Gellert, alles zu seiner Zeit. Du hast keine Eile._

“It is. May I?”

Credence’s face was bright like the sun, his eyes positively sparkled. He never looked more happy or amazed. Gellert offered him the flower with a gentle smile, and that silly boy scooped it up with such a care as if one rude move would destroy everything Gellert had enchanted.

All because of one simple spell. It was adorable and saddening at the same time. Credence showed the marvel and astonishment that Gellert so missed in my fellow wizards and witches. They took magic for granted. It took an outsider’s view to see what magic truly was. Something to marvel at.

“How was the theatre?”, Gellert asked Credence as he kept turning the flower around. By now they were slowly walking side by side. He lazily kept his arms by his hips and cocked his head at Credence. The boy still looked at the flower as he pondered a reply.

He finally replied: “Amazing, but also scary. This crowd was… I never was seen...” He shook his head. Credence looked at Gellert and smiled. “I don’t know what to say. It felt so incredible… Mindblowing. I was alive. I had never felt more alive. Or proud.”

Gellert smiled. “Well, you had every reason to be.” His head cocked and he gently laid an arm around Credence’s shoulder. “And what were your thoughts on the plays? I saw you watch quite attentively.”

“It was interesting. I have never seen a play. And this Shake-something clearly was a good writer.” Credence smiled. “I had no idea these types of stories could exist. They touched me...” He stopped. “I am sorry. You probably do not want to hear any of this.”

He laughed. “Do not worry, Credence. It is fine.” Gellert reached into his pocket. “I want you to have this.” And with these words he pulled out a small, black leather book. “That one contains my favourite story as a child.” Credence flipped the pages.

“ _The Tragedy of Doctor Faustus_ by Christopher Marlowe.” He looked at Gellert. “Why are you giving me this book?”

Gellert’s smile widened and his brows wandered upwards. “Consider it a token gesture.”

***

The Ministry of Magic differed from MACUSA. She had not really found the time to look around, when they first arrived. Thus as Tina followed Earnest, she examined everything. Tina had only been an Auror for a little more then a year before Seraphina Picquery had suspended her. The memory of it alone burned in her throat like bitter acid. However because of that, she had not seen many things, even in MACUSA. Leave alone visit other governments.

As Tina walked besides Earnest, she caught herself staring at everything. Every desk, burdened with paper work. Every map, which was full of marks and notes. Other Aurors in their dark blue uniforms were crossing paths with them. Compared to MACUSA, the entire place felt more organised. But also strangely cold. These people meant business.

The reason had to be Grindelwald. Europe felt this man’s influence far stronger then America. And if she considered the Second Salemers… Maybe it had been good that Grindelwald had not yet spread his views… For if Tina were honest, she had no idea how they were supposed to handle him.

She probably was the wrong person to ask. Tina saw the world according to the book of the American Auror Defense Squad. The standard Auror school. Tina knew every single page of that book, she knew each law, and if somebody were to wake her up at 3AM in the morning and ask “Tina, what is the law 27, paragraph 14b?”, she would have been able to recite this section word for word.

Knowing the book of the AADS was all good and nice, but then Tina had not always followed it. She held criminals in regards to it, but she was willing to bend it. Tina used to think as an Auror, she was immune to the law. Since she enforced it. Tina  _ was _ the law! However Picquery did not tolerate such an attitude. It endangered Auror teams.

When she had been suspended a year ago, Tina had been furious. That was until the Grindelwald case slammed full force upon her. Mercy Lewis, Tina had never felt more stupid. This was not stuff she had been trained for! They had not practised this. The usual criminals felt like a piece of cake compared to Grindelwald! Tina felt like a newbie, who had just come out of the AADS.

Her gaze flickered over to Earnest Crouch. According to Tobias, the Crouch family was for England what the Graves family was for America. A group of very influential and powerful wizards, that had been holding the title of Director of Magical Law Enforcement for centuries.

And Earnest… He walked so calmly. The Auror had hardly spoken, but each word seemed to carry a weight. He looked so comfortable with himself. Yet, he never looked arrogant. How did he do that? Tina wished she could be half as good as him. But then she had wished for many things. Tina had once dreamed she could maybe become as good as an Auror as Percival, however that dream had now burned down. She had always been the mess-up. Why should it now be any different?

“So, what made Picquery choose you out of all the Aurors she had to accompany Oates?”

Earnest’s words startled Tina. She looked up and stammered: “If I knew that… I have been asking myself this ever since I came here...”

He cocked his head at her. “But you are an Auror?”

“Yes!” Tina said it a bit too loud. A few Aurors rose their heads and looked at them. She dodged awkwardly and nibbled around at the edges of her sleeve. “I mean, yes. I am an Auror. But I am not an investigator like Oates or Graves. Hell, I have never…” She stared at Earnest. What was she thinking? Why did she tell him her whole career? That was the last thing she should do. Tina and Oates were still strangers here. And while they were working on the same side indeed, there still was this lingering mistrust.

Earnest’s grey eyes narrowed. A cat, hiding behind long strands of grass, fixated on the mouse. “Secret Services?”, he guessed, and Tina flinched. How had he figured that out?  _ Too many words, Tina, too many words. _ She nodded.

Earnest smiled. “Hey, it’s okay”, he responded, “I am working in the Secret Services of the Ministry. And well, my family patrons certain acts and training sessions. The usual things.”

Tina felt more envy flare up in her. She should not feel like that. Why did they all handle their job with such ease? Hell, even Earnest seemed to know exactly what he was doing. And he was barely older then her! What did he...what did they all have that Tina did not?

“That’s great”, she remarked half-heartedly.

He rose his brows. “I heard you duelled Grindelwald when he was Graves. Oates told me about it.” Earnest stared at her with barely concealed curiosity. Under normal circumstances this would have made her chest swell up in pride. After all how long had Tina yearned for a look like this? There had not been many female Aurors in MACUSA. And while Tina had only worked in the Secret Services, Percival had told her that if she did a good job, she had the chance of being promoted.

A female Auror could be just as good as her male counterparts. But alas Tina had failed in even that simply desire. She had lost count on how many missions she had screwed up by trying to be the first to catch somebody.  _ “We messed up, because Tins was too noisy again.” _

And now one battle seemed to change all of that. Tina knew that Picquery gave her a second chance. If she blew this one up, then Tina could definitely say Goodbye to her Auror badge. No pleading and promising would help.

“I believe that is what currently is all up in the headlines. Together with what happened with...”

Tina halted. She did not want to continue to talk. She had seen Percival after he had been rescued. The sight had cut off her air.  _ “You cannot imagine it unless you have been there.” _ Percival had always said these words to her when he had spoken about hunting down dark wizards.

His condition after Grindelwald made Tina realise how much weight his phrase actually held. She had no idea of what she actually got herself into. Tina had believed she could made a good Auror. In fact, she used to be sure of it. But now…

“Are you not proud?”, asked Earnest surprised, and they stopped, “After all other wizards would dream to be in your place now. I know men that would give their right hand in playing a part in capturing Grindelwald.”

Tina could not look him in the eye. “I did not do much...”, she stammered, “Newt did…” As the Auror kept gazing around, her look fell upon some strange door at the end of the hall. It was a small one, of black wood and had a dark knob. Tina blinked in confusion and slowly approached it.

“What is that?”

Earnest’s gaze grew alarmed. He disapparted and reappeared before her. Tina halted and rose a brow. “This is none of your concern”, the Auror remarked, “Just keep moving.” This strange answer only made her more curious.

Tina rose a brow and peered behind him at the door. “Why?”, she asked.

“I don’t owe you this explanation. Now turn around and move.” Earnest’s eyes were narrowed. He took a simple step forwards.

She stepped back. “Okay, okay”, Tina called and rose her hands, retreating even more, “No need to get upset.” Earnest did not relax. And frankly Tina was not about to let go of the mystery of the door. She waited for them to be a bit away from it. Then Tina suddenly slammed herself against the Auror. He staggered aside, almost tripped over. Tina raced passed him and headed towards the door.

“PORPENTINA, WAIT!” Earnest shouted after her. Footsteps echoed behind her. Tina shook at the doorknob. It was not really locked. Maybe somebody had forgotten to turn the key? Either way, she pushed the door open and slipped through.

Before her a staircase descended into the darkness. Tina hurried down. There was a second door and strange noises and lights came from it. She was about to hurry forwards when a hand suddenly seized her wrist.

Earnest stared at her in the dull darkness and hissed: “Are you completely…?”

***

The prisoner was set up against the wall. Caulliando’s limbs stuck in magical chains, suspending him in mid-air. Muscles pulled to a strain and pearls of sweat appeared on his skin. Whether they were off fear or of pain, Toppclife could not really say. Not that he cared to be honest.

The Chief Interrogator stood before him, hand on his chin. Upon a wave of his fingers, the magical chains pulled just a bit more. The scribe screamed in pain. His whole body was convulsing. He howled: “Pleeeasseeee! Stop! I’ll tell you anything.” Another strained howl. Toppclife rose a hand and the charm stopped.

“Where is Grindelwald?”, Richard asked quietly. Where was this scum of a wizard terrorist hiding? Where was this disgrace of German blood hiding? He wanted to unearth the hiding place and drag this demon into the light, decapitate him.

“I told you”, the scribe tried to plead with him, “I have never met him. I do not know! I –!”

“Don’t lie to me”, Toppclife chided, “I can smell the fraud from a mile away.” He dropped his hand. “Though it seems I must be a bit more persuasive.” Richard let out a sharp whistle. Caulliando tensed. He looked around, eyes filled with dreads. It already was very cold down here in the depths of the earth. But now a new cold swept in. One that settled into the bones and stuck there.

Ice began to grow over the walls. Toppclife’s breath formed little clouds. Caulliando’s eyes seemed to quell out of his skull. “No...no...”, he stammered. From the corners of the room two Dementors slowly glided towards him. Black cloaks and out of the edges of the shrivelled sleeves came a pair of rotten, skeleton hands. They smelled damp. A rasping noise filled the air like a person half hanged, struggling to breath.

As the Dementors moved past him, Richard waved his wand and with a slither of something silver and white a long bodied, slender, yet muscular and absolutely mean looking lizard appeared by his feet. The goanna circled him, its forked tongue tasting the air and the Dementors avoided Toppclife as they kept advancing towards Cauillando. He screamed and begged, however the closer they got, the quieter he became.

Soon he was as silent as a grave. The Dementors were a flock of ravenous birds around him. Their disgusting rasping filled the air as they dragged all positive memories out of the man. Toppclife waited, before he finally rose his wand. “Enough!”, Richard demanded sharply, “Leave.” The patronus rushed forwards. Jumping between them, the lizard rose upon its hind legs and hissed soundlessly at them. The Dementors slowly backed away and disappeared in the shadows of the room again.

Caulliando was a mess. He seemed to have lost colour in his face, and his eyes were watery with tears. Such vulnerable flesh! Toppclife bared his teeth in a nasty grin. One of the Aurors stepped towards him. “Mister Toppclife”, he asked cautiously, “Was this really necessary?”

“I merely let him see the consequences of his own actions.” Richard rose his brows. “Surely, there is no mistake in letting a man feel the impact of his own sins?” What was this accusation? It was ridiculous. After all, Azkaban was full of Dementors. People felt their powerful impact all the time. What was the flaw in using these powers in interrogation? They usually turned even the bravest criminals into cowering fools. And if Toppclife offered one of them to kiss one, the criminal in question would sing like a canary.

There was a sudden, loud banging behind the door. Aurors drew their wands. Toppclife turned half around. With dozens of wands, pointing at them, two people stopped mid-fight. Brown, messed up hair, blue cloaks and sequins in black leather… He grinned. “Well, if that isn’t a surprise”, Richard Toppclife crooned, “Sirs, might you escort Miss Goldstein and Mister Crouch outside? It seems they do not understand the phrase ‘Off limits’.”

***

The pages rustled as Credence turned them around. He sat by the window. Now that he actually had something to occupy himself with, he no longer really felt the urge to look outside all the time. He had never read a play before, and Credence positively devoured the book Gellert had given him.

Marlowe’s writing was... _ incredible _ . Appalling, but also very challenging. Ma would have never allowed him to read a book, where the main character openly summoned the devil. Blasphemy, she would have called it. And witchcraft. A celebration of all the sins, Credence should avoid. Maybe that was what made him cherish this book so much. But that was not everything. The boy also liked the writing style.

Poetry. That was what Grindelwald had called it. Poetry. A play, where words rhymed, ambiguity chased each other and similes drew images in his head. And this book had been written by a man decades ago. It was so fascinating. Though there was something queer in its plot, which made him worry. The way Faustus spoke of Mephistopheles… It felt odd.

“Credence, can we talk?”

Credence turned his head to look over his shoulder. Modesty stood in the doorway. She fumbled with the edges of her dress. Her usually stoic eyes were wide. The look made him close his book, and he turned half around to face her. “Of course”, Credence responded and placed his hands on his lap, “What is it, Modesty?”

She crossed the room. Her step was less mechanical then usual. “Where have you been?”, she asked without any greeting and outright rage? Worry? Scorn? “I have been looking everywhere for you!” Credence knew how she was always frightened for him. Whenever Mary Lou had lead him upstairs, he could feel her gaze bore in his neck. What had she been thinking in those moments? Had she hoped she could switch places with him? So Ma spared him?

“I have been out for a walk with Grindel...” Her look seemed to be one of downright terror. His brows furrowed and Credence got up. “Modesty”, he asked and reached forwards in an attempt to touch her hands. “Are you alright?”

She shied away from him. It hurt. Modesty looked Credence dead in the eye and merely asked: “Which hand was cut, Credence?”

He blinked and stared down at his hands. “Why do you want to…?”

“Which hand was cut?!” Her voice was urgent. “I have to _know_!”

“The right one.” Credence rose his shoulders and avoided her gaze. “Why are you asking me?”

“I saw Grindelwald cut Cauillando.”

He froze. “Why would he do that?”, Credence asked. He couldn’t believe it.

“I do not know”, confessed Modesty and shook her head, “He just felt so _vile_ …”

Credence turned his back on her and approached the window. This was all so confusing. No, Grindelwald could not be vile! He had given them shelter and food and friendship… Why would he go behind their back like that? Credence closed his eyes and shook his head. “Did you  _ feel _ it? Before then?”

“I don’t know what I felt! I only know what I saw.” Modesty’s gaze rested on his bandaged hand. The white of the fabric had turned brown from dried blood. “These men… They had not come for Cauillando, They had come…” She did not have to finish her sentence. Credence rose his hand, curled his fingers into fists. The dull pressure made his wound sing.

Modesty gently took his hand. She began to unwrap the bandage. “There. No need to draw attention to it.” She peered down at the cut. It was less large now, the flesh looked fairly normal, though dead skin had begin to frizzle. “It is healing well”, remarked his sister.

Credemce smiled, before he pulled his hand away. The cheerful expression disappeared as if somebody had whipped it off. “I had come here, because I had hoped we would have a better life”, Credence murmured, not expecting Modesty to answer but knowing fully well that she listened, “I hadn’t expected it to be… I never wanted for us to be dragged into…. Whatever.” He slowly shook his head. “I have to find Gellert.”

***

The one location, where Gellert was likely to be found, was a pub near the Globe Theatre. It was a small and almost shady place. The windows were milky. The smell of burning wood greeted him, seasoned with roasted meat and cider. People were sitting at oak tables and chatted with each other. Credence cautiously stood in the centre and looked around. Finally he spotted Grindelwald.

The blonde wizard sat at a corner near the window. Back leaning against it, the blonde man held a pipe in his hand. Gellert slowly gestured with it as he spoke with a group of wizards, not much older then Credence: “The Minister is kissing a Pureblood’s arse, his Director of Magical Security is impregnating the Muggle Prime Minister’s wife, and his Aurors are having a baby party, comparing who has the biggest wand.” Gellert leaned forwards and laughed. Some people laughed alongside him, however most masked it with polite coughs.

Credence walked over towards him. “We must speak privately!” He was surprised his voice did not tremble. But that was good. It did not happen often that his voice did not tremble. But it also only happened when something made him very upset.

One of the men looked at Credence and laughed. “Oh, yeah, right, you are gonna talk with Grimmwood’s  _ privates _ !” He made an obscene gesture. The boy felt his lips curl up in disgust as more people laughed.  _ Arseholes! _

Deciding to ignore them, Credence leaned forwards and hissed urgently into Grindelwald’s ear: “We must speak.” Brows wandered upwards, and Gellert swung his legs over the bench he sat on. He slowly sauntered after him as Credence made his way back to the bar. Gellert placed his elbow upon the bar, pipe between fingers, and curiously rose his brows, lips twitching in amusement.

“Why have you cut Cauillando’s hand?”, Credence demanded to know.

Gellert blinked and half rose. “Surely you meant Thank you for saving my life?”, he guessed.

The words made Credence almost gasp. His stomach knotted. _How dare he say something like this?_ “I do not think you have the right to decide that.” Credence’s voice was barely above a whisper. He had already assumed that Grindelwald was godless. Hell, he had even admitted to not praying. But these words… This carelessness and lack of empathy. It struck Credence through the core.

Gellert’s lips quivered into the shades of a smile. He gave Credence a peculiar look. Was he reading his mind? It felt like that. “Of course.” His voice, usually so soft and comforting, now was robed with mockery and ridicule. “And to remedy myself for such a crucial mistake all you have to do is tell the Department of Magical Law Enforcement the truth.”

Even without Ma drilling it into his head, he had always believed in doing the right thing. And the risk of somebody dieing in his place appalled him. Cauillando may have been rude, but he did not deserve this. He had only been doing his job! And well, Credence had appeared out of nowhere and taken his profession away. Moreover he had nothing to do with whatever this fight was about. It had all been a massive mix-up.

“You are right”, Credence nodded and took a few steps. Gellert’s gaze bore itself into him. He lowered his hands and watched the boy as he approached the door. Looking over his shoulder, Credence could not help but notice some kind of unhidden playfulness and curiosity. What play was he in? What wicked trick was pulled on him? “You are right.” And Credence left the pub.

***

The Ministery probably was somewhere near the actual Muggle governing body. Which after some questioning around lead the boy to Whitehall. A large street, whose houses spoke of wealth and power. Even now with the lights having been dimmed down, Credence noticed the old fashioned buildings. The stone felt cool under his hands and from its pale grey glow in the dark, it must be marble. Windows like dark eyes stared down upon him. The place was almost desolated but Credence could not help but feel watched.

Was it God, staring down upon him, judging him? Were it other people? Was it his own conscience? Were it his thoughts, whispering how this was a terrible idea? Maybe it was. But then what was the option? Letting Cauillando die? Credence could not do that. Murder was a sin. It did not matter if he committed it or not. It would be Credence’s fault if Cauillando died. He couldn’t live with that thought.

Credence stopped from pacing up and down. He reached into his pocket. The cross stung to his flesh like hot iron. Mary Lou had given it to him when Credence was very little.  _ “This is your rosary. Carry it with you at all times, and whenever you find yourself overcome by temptation, pray. Pray and beg for forgiveness and mercy. For those with a cleansed soul will enter heaven. While those, whose thoughts are blackened by sin, will burn for it.” _ The thought made him flinch.  His eyes shut briefly as if this could rid him of the stern face.

His fingers trembled and the cross slowly swung over the edge of his hand. Credence could feel each pearl within his fingers as he made the rosary wander up and down. His eyes closed and as Credence tried his hardest to shun the harsh words of disapproval, his lips began to whisper words. “A nd if I wandered in the dark valley, I fear no misfortune, for you are with me. Everything has its time. A time for birth and a time for death.”

Slowly storing his rosary away, Credence crossed himself. He advanced towards the entrance of the building when suddenly a voice spoke behind him: “I saw greatness. That’s why I saved you.” Even without seeing him, that calm, almost river-like cadenza was something Credence would recognize everywhere. Turning around, he saw Gellert Grindelwald standing at the entrance of the street. Night painted his skin grey and his hair black.

What was he doing here? And how had he come here so fast? Had he done this magical appearing-out-of-nowhere trick? Gellert said: “Toppclife was coming for somebody, and the lesser of two evil was the lesser of two wizards.”

Credence frowned in disgust. “The lesser of two wizards?”

“A perfectly valid argument if you are a lover of magic.”

Was this really the man that had given him and Modesty shelter? “You are playing God if you are playing with human lives”, he responded, his voice quivering, “It is wrong.” Credence shook his head. Even though he did not know much about the world, this was a type of trickery he could not tolerate.

There was an odd glimmer in Grindelwald’s eyes. Was it impatience? Maybe just the gas lights reflected in his face. He approached Credence. “Toppclife was denied a warrant”, he explained, “You should be happy. This could became bad… But if you confess, you’ll ruin all I did… You’ll be tortured and murdered.”

“And whom might Toppclife come for next, I wonder?” The blonde wizard stopped a few steps before Credence, back to him, and crossed his arms. “The theatre? Friends? Family? What about your sister?” Mismatched eyes bore themselves into him. Credence could not look away. “Would you endanger her for nothing?”

His cheeks flooded. He had not thought about this. What would happen if Credence was gone? Who would take care of Modesty? Moreover, what if Toppclife indeed came for her?

Gellert laid a hand upon the wall. He stated: “Greatness comes at a cost. You must live with your guilt. And trust me, it won’t be the first time. Change does not occur without some missteps along the way.”

Credence gave no reply. His look was still drawn towards the building. Silence stretched itself through London’s streets, only disturbed by a cab running by and the snorting of a horse. The silence somehow felt worse then the heat of the riot. He was picturing Cauillando, screaming in pain and agony. Was there honestly nothing they could do?

Gellert stood on the other side of the building now. As if he had read his mind, he remarked: “Do not worry. Toppclife will notice he got the wrong man. Cauillando should be released soon.” His ringed hand reached forwards and affectionately patted his shoulder. “Come”, Gellert said with an inviting nod as he lead Credence away, “Drink with me.”

***

Modesty had already gone to sleep. Credence could see her half under the blankets behind the half-open door. Grindelwald softly shut it. “Let her rest”, he told him and lead the boy back towards the kitchen, “This is a little something just for the two of us.” He smiled at Credence, and the boy felt his heart raise involuntarily. It was the same way it used to whenever Graves was near him.

Credence was not sure what exactly this feeling was. Warm and comforting like a bed of leaves. A strange freedom. But most of all it gave him safety. It made Credence feel as if he was somebody worth watching over. Somebody, who deserved company, compassion and love.

Despite the fact that something in this man made his very flesh crawl, the boy could not help but look up to him. He seemed to really have the best interest of wizard kind in heart. After all, had he not provided him and Modesty with shelter and food? With more even! Had Grindelwald not risked his life to save Credence’s sister? And had he not given the boy the chance to prove himself? It was more then Credence could ever ask for.

In the living room, the table yet again was filled with papers. It always seemed to be full of papers. Almost magically drawn to them, Credence walked over and picked them up. The parchment felt soft under his fingers. It smelled fresh. This paper was less full then the speech Gellert had held at the Globe. It was a confusing mess of notes, arrows, underlined words, question and exclamation marks.

The sound of footsteps. Grindelwald was sauntering towards the table. He had grabbed a dark bottle of wine. Knife in hand, he slowly began to peel the wax of the seal. Credence’s eyes rested on the blade. Was this the weapon that had cut Cauillando? He swallowed. Under loud rustling Credence placed the papers down and asked: “What are you working on?”

“It is not really work.” Gellert poured them glasses. He handed Credence one. “More of the vague structure of an idea. I am still in the research phase.” He carefully took the glass. Credence had never drunk wine in his entire life. The smell was strong, and for a brief moment he had the funny feeling as if his nose was blocked. Taking a cautious sip, Credence almost choked. The wine was not bitter but had an oddly heavy sweet note. He forced the liquid down.

Credence had heard how wine was such a great drink. But this… It somehow stung in his throat and burned the ceiling of his mouth. Parts of him wanted to spit out what he had drunk, but Credence could tell that this would come off as rude. So he stood there, hammered against his chest and cleared his throat for probably several minutes. Gellert balanced his glass with ease and watched Credence with one of those phantom-like looks, that were so hard to read.

Credence whipped his sleeve over his lips. Leaning against the table, they remained silent for a while. Finally he asked: “What is this double-game you are playing, Gellert? What are you after?” Credence knew he was rather direct with his question, but he had to start somewhere.

There was a flicker in Gellert’s eyes. Was it amusement? Mockery? Why was this man so hard to read? He was like an enigma, and Credence had no means to really decipher him. It was frightening and alluring at the same time. Percival Graves had been just the same, but with Grindelwald it was a touch stronger. Were all wizards like this? Maybe that explained why the Ma was so afraid of them.

“Call it an idea”, replied Gellert, “That is what I am after. And double-game.” He snickered. “Tell me how many people have you seen that pretend to be somebody they are not. What about you? Surely, you have moments where you wish to be somebody else.” His words had hit a sore spot. Credence’s hands clutched his shoulders and he fell back into the haunched forwards position he had adapted before Mary Lou.

Averting his gaze, he whispered: “What I wish I could be and what I am right now… They are just not the same.” His shoulders slouched even more. Admitting this felt like a defeat.

“Then what is it you wish to be?” Credence looked up. Gellert’s voice had become soft and gentle. How his tone could change so quickly astonished the boy. He was like a river, running over stones. The gurgling and whispering so strangely comforting. “Taken care of? Surrounded by friends and family?”

He placed the glass of still half-full wine upon the table. Sauntering around it, each step as bouncing as a cat balancing on a fence, his eyes locked with Credence’s. His voice had gained that tone he had on stage. That powerful, strong sound that resonated through you like a wave, crushing against rock. It shook your bones and created goosebumps on your skin. There was such passion in each word. They made Mary Lou sound like a really bad history teacher lecturing a class.

“A spell cannot be cast unless you say the words!” He spread his arms, eyes flaring as he approached Credence. “Do you desire power? Adoration? Safety?” He was so startled he found no way to articulate anything. Gellert shook Credence’s arm and called: “Come on, coward! Speak!”

That word caused the skin near his eyes to itch. Credence spun around “YES!” He did not know how, but suddenly Gellert laid on that table with his fingers in his collar, faces inches away from each other, and Credence screamed at him: “Power! Adoration! Safety! But above all else, love!” He was shaking. His cheeks felt hot and red.

Gellert stared back at him, startled, but also strangely….satisfied? His hand rose and a palm rested against his cheek. The touch was so careful and gracious. Credence was almost tempted to lean into it. However before he could react, the blonde wizard surprised Credence all over again. Gellert leaned forwards and kissed him on the mouth.

Credence jumped back as if a bee had stung him. Laughter rained down upon him. Gellert dropped heavily onto the table and held his hands before his mouth. His eyes were narrowed and his face lit up as the laughter shook his whole body. I had never seen somebody laugh like this. It was so… genuine… so alive. Credence stood there, frozen to the spot, head as red as a strawberry and hastily whipped over his face as if this could remove what had happened between them. Gellert calmed down and placed his fingers on his lips. What was he thinking?

“Help me.” The words were said in a quiet whisper. “Help me”, Gellert’s voice became more secure as he sat up and approached Credence again. He pointed at him with his index finger. “Help me, and I shall give you all the love you desire.” Credence halted. His skin still felt heated from the kiss. His mind was fussy. A man kissing another man. Could one do that? Wasn’t it a sin? And why had it felt so right?

But with the way Gellert behaved, Credence became cautious at once. Suddenly his first words spoken to him came back. Kneading his fingers, Credence responded: “Is that the price you ask for me to pay?” While he still did not really understand German, he had somehow gotten what Preis meant.

Gellert stopped inches before him. “Do not see it as a price”, he crooned, “See it as a reward. A present.” He smiled.

Credence shook his head. “What do you want, Gellert?” His hands clutched more. The Obscurus ran down his back like hot wax. It twisted in his organs. He gritted his teeth and pressed out: “Why are you doing all this? Why did you bother saving me and my sister?”

Credence had hoped to sound threatening and angry. He did not want to lose the ground under his feet as he had done with Graves. Credence could not stand this hurt again. But Gellert did not seem to be concerned. Or even impressed. He merely whispered: “Who knows why, said the spider to the fly.”

Credence gave no reply. Instead he headed towards the room with Modesty. “What is the matter?”, called Gellert and Credence heard a distinguishing tone in his voice. The flames now were cracking wood apart. He felt a stormy gaze on him. Gellert spread his arms. “Is this not enough? Don’t you want love?!” Credence halted hesitantly at the door. Gellert snapped: “What more do you want? I have given you everything! Is it such a problem if I ask...”

“Gellert...” Credence’s voice choked. He did not want to be the boy, who felt the stung of a belt on his naked skin. Not now. Not ever. “This is not a No.” Credence looked back at that shaken frame of a man, who was always on the edge. Enigma or not, one thing Credence could see with ease. Whatever Gellert followed, he did it with wild passion. He lived and breathed for an idea he hid from him.

“I just need time to think”, Credence murmured, “Please, don’t think I am ungrateful. I just… I need…” He rose his shoulders and dropped his head. “See you tomorrow. Okay?” Credence’s voice was hesitant, and he gaze up from under his eyelids. It was a move Credence used to do to appease Ma. The beaten boy still was so hard to be shaken off.

Gellert stared at him for a while. “Fine”, he murmured and turned away.

Credence opened the door to our bedroom and slipped into it. His cheeks still burned red. He buried himself into the blanket and tried to fall to sleep. But as soon as Credence closed his eyes for just a bit, hands caressed him in his sleep and Graves looked at him. He leaned forwards but as his lips met his, Credence stood again before the table with Gellert underneath him, roaring in laughter and delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments keep me going. Especially when working on something this long.


	13. A Town In Hungary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,  
> I finally got around to edit chapter 13. We now get back to Albus and Percival. Also fun fact, this chapter almost caused us to reach 100 pages in the word document.  
> I hope you all enjoy it.

Gellert startled out of his sleep. A warm, heavy body pressed against him. The dark wizard groaned. He stretched himself like a lazy cat, mouth half opening into a yawn. Lids shut. They were sticky from sleep. From sleep and from other liquids, that stuck to his lips like a dry film.

Why was he laying in this weird compromised position? Why had he not gone to sleep in his bed? And why was his skin so sticky? Then he remembered: Albus had called him after Credence had gone to bed. The Professor had learned about Felix Schmied. Gellert had entirely forgotten about that little kid. There had been more pressing matters then a boy, covered in fur, withering in agony under the influence of his spells.

And now Albus had dug him up again. How dared he? The past was best left alone. So what made Albus think he could just poke around in his? What gave him the right? Did Gellert owe him anything? His history was his own. None of Albus’ concern. Not everybody wore his past like an open book. Did Albus had to look into every business that was not his own.

Credence already had disappeared in bed. He did not hear Gellert yell and trash. Or some of the other, more suggestive sounds that followed in the night and only subdued way after midnight. But alas they had done their trick in fully  _relaxing_ him.

Speaking of suggestive, Gellert looked down at the young man, who slept deeply. A slim, muscular, elegant body with brown hair and a beard, head resting against his bare tight. The coolness of the room kissed his skin. Gellert’s guts felt comfortably warm, though most of the afterglow had passed away. Even the taste of cum on his lips had been washed away.

“Come on. Wake up.” Gellert patted against the boy’s shoulders and neck as he slowly rose. His rips moved under rippling, white flesh, adorned with various tattoos. “Get up.” He gave the boy another shove with his foot and felt him stir. Just as tired and exhausted as he himself.

There were more naked bodies in the room. Boys, all rather young. Mostly in their twenties. On the floor, draped across the couch. Some even laid on the table. Their shared body heat and sweat hung in the air. That and the familiar odour of the white seed, they had spilled during the last night.

It was unlikely that the Barebones had heard any of the activities. Oh, the usefulness of sound-muffling charms. The living room must have been as quiet for the two as the clear night sky outside. Gellert slowly balanced his way through the sleeping bodies and poked his boys again and again with his feet. “Rise and shine. Get up! Na, los!” He headed for the table, face distorting into yawns on occasions. “Pack your things and leave me be!”

A half-empty bottle of fire whiskey stood on the table. Gellert grabbed it and filled one of the dirty glasses with the liquid. “Jetzt verschwindet.” He poured the liquid upon a man, that laid before the table on two chairs. The fellow coughed and wheezed as the wine hit him, struggling to get up. “Haut ab!”, Gellert bellowed, spreading his arms, “Na los! Raus, allesamt, raus!” Hasty moves as the boys tried to follow his demand.

New steps could be heard. “Merlin’s beard!” The boy, that had slept against his thighs, appeared behind Gellert, now fully clothed. He wore a black vest with sequins upon the shoulders and little knobs near the collar. His favourite boy gave him an angry look. “Gel, what got into you?”

Gellert turned around and glared back. “I have work to do, Earnest.”

***

_Well, this is a strange feeling._

Even with knowing fully well that they had been subjected to a memory charm, the aftermath was still a weird sensation. His ears were shut, full of water, and his brain was replaced by cotton candy. Albus could make a solid guess as to had been removed from their stay at Durmstrang. He did not bother trying to remember. The attempt would be pointless and only heighten the cotton candy brain feeling.

Besides what use did it have? Albus mesmerized the important details. He could be bothered less with where Durmstrang was located. Lady Westenra had an even bigger reason to hide then they at Hogwarts did. Not every wizard was this calm about dark magic. In fact, it was rather scrutinised and for many people rightfully so. Thus the thought of children learning dark magic…

They had dropped them off back at the train station. Clouds rolled across the sky, loaded with snow. Wind cut like daggers through clothing. Albus pulled around at his gloves, flexing his fingers. They still felt numb.

Ice blue eyes peered at Percival Graves. He was shifting his weight. The crippled foot laid almost flat on the snow. His umbrella creaked in the cold wind. His shoulders were hunched. The broken hand was buried deep in his pockets. He looked oddly frail nowadays. Albus had heard many things about Percival Graves. His heroism, his skill in battle and magic, but most of all his imposing presence. Nowadays all of that was gone. Percival Graves had been reduced to nothing.

What had Grindelwald done to accomplish such a negative transformation in the poor man?

“Do you want to take a seat?”, Albus offered dutifully, “You seem tired…”

“I’d rather wish the train would come.” Percival stared with squinted eyes at the tracks.

It had started to snow. Thick flakes glided down upon them. They became more and more until it got hard to see properly. Albus started to blink. Wind howled in brittled branches near the station. He pushed his hat deeper. Albus was now actually glad he had cut his hair a bit shorter then he usually wore it, because otherwise it would have gotten all knotty and tousled and a massive distraction.

Albus walked over to Percival. His scarf was flying behind him like a hollow balloon. The Professor offered with raised hands: “I could make a proper knot in your…”

“That’s not needed!” Graves harshly rose his healthy hand. He gazed around again. “Mercy Lewis, where is that bloody train? Are they always this inconsistent here???” He hobbled around, his steps leaving dark prints in the snow. Albus buried his hands in his pockets, hoping the body warmth would help him a bit.

Watching Percival, Albus murmured: “We can do nothing but… Oh!”

The conductor hurried towards them. He had buried his cap deep in his face and waved a hand. Once he stopped before them, he said in broken English: “Train not coming. Storm up road. Next train in three hours.”

“Three hours?!”, called Percival, “We are in the middle-of-nowhere for…”

“Husssshhhh.” Albus pressed a finger against the Director’s lips, before he had time to enter another massive rant. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

Only when the conductor had left them, did Albus let go and Percival positively snarled at him: “I am not gonna wait for three bloody hours for the next train! Mercy Lewis! This country is the worst!”

“Mister Graves, calm down”, Albus responded and offered him his arm, “We will just aparate, okay? No need to get mad at the train company.”

Percival scoffed and rolled his eyes. However he took Albus’ arm and they disaparated.

***

They landed in a pile of dead leaves, raining down upon them. Percival’s broken leg sung. For a short moment he staggered, searching for some kind of balance. He grimaced.  _Well, there go my skills as an aparator!_ All because of a leg, which was numb from the knee to the foot. It made Percival as uncoordinated as a puppet with cut strings.

He kicked leaves away. Mercy Lewis, where had Albus transported them? Did the bright Professor think camping was the right option? Stupid. Absolutely stupid.

Trees surrounded them. Maples, oaks and lime fought for sunlight. Bushes interwove themselves into one another. The grass had been stamped flat and a strong odour laid in the air. They had landed straight in one of those bushes. Birds chirped above them in the trees, and the flaps of wings shot ahead of us. It was not as cold as this place, where Durmstrang was located. More like autumn. But that all did not matter, for Percival noticed one thing instantly.

“Hate to bust your bubble, Professor, but I have the feeling you misjudged our directions”, he grunted as Percival staggered out of the bush and pulled his umbrella free. It already looked less then handsome. Well, that was one thing Percival could add to the list of things Grindelwald owned him once they were done: A new, functioning umbrella!

“Like seriously, where are we?” Percival waved his free hand over his clothing and plucked the leaves from it. An act, which he usually would have done with his magic wandlessly. Percival watched Albus wave his ebony wand and the leaves spiralled away from him. He did it without thinking. The sight caused Percival’s stomach to knot.

“I do not know”, confessed Albus as he stored his wand away.

His healthy hand landed against his forehead, and Percival groaned into the palm. “So you are telling me, we just majorly misaparated!”

“Well, you try to aparate in a snowstorm for the first time”, responded Albus. There was a brief hint of fury in his voice, which surprised Percival as he had not expected the Professor to be capable of this emotion. However the moment disappeared just as quickly and Albus returned to this god damn, calm composure and care as he asked Percival: “Are you alright? Nothing splinched?”

Percival was not an old man! “I can look after myself!”, he muttered through gritted teeth and ran his healthy hand over his body, rechecking. No injuries. No losing of some random body parts. “I am  _fine_ .” Percival sounded harder then intended. Hurrying past Albus, he jabbed his umbrella into the muddy ground and dragged his leg behind him.

The umbrella got caught up in a few roots, causing Percival to almost fall again.  _Damn it!_ He pulled that wretched thing. Albus followed slowly. Noticing his cussing and struggling, he laid a hand on Percival’s umbrella’s handle. His skin felt warm and soft. Untouched and unscarred by war. “You are too harsh on yourself”, he remarked, “You have to pull it gently.”

“I am pulling it gently!” Percival ripped the umbrella out of the hole and staggered backwards. Strong, secure, slender hands caught his arms and Albus pulled him back on his feet. “Stop doing that!” Percival tried to shove him off. He let go and politely took a step back. The Director blew a raspberry and tensed his healthy hand into a fist. “Well, now what? Can we just please aparate again?”

“I don’t think that would be wise”, murmured Albus. He gazed up and Percival followed his look. Between the leaves of the trees, he noticed the darkening of the sky. “It has been a long day, and you look tired”, continued Albus. He waved his wand and after a murmured “Homo Revealio”, a flickering, silvery line appeared and they followed it.

The spell dissolved at the edges of a hill. They gazed down upon a large valley. Lush, green trees and in the distance a few mountains. A village was nestled on the soft grass. It resembled a picture book example of a town. Small, white houses with red roofs. Sandy ways between them and upon these moved small dots.

Percival looked at Albus and rose a brow.  _Now this is a funny coincidence._ The Professor seemed less concerned. Albus yawned. “Look”, he murmured, “We have to take this risk, Percival. It is probably some secluded wizarding community like Godric’s Hollow or Mould-on-the-Wold. I am tired. You are probably tired.” He waved a hand. “Let’s just get in here and find a hostel bed.”

Percival peered down at the village. Albus was right. Wizarding communities had always hid themselves. It was part of the Stature of Secrecy. Had his time as Gellert’s prisoner made him this mistrustful that he even despised normality?  _Come on, Percival, don’t be ridiculous._ The ex-Director gritted his teeth and gripped the umbrella’s handle.

The steps down the hill were difficult as it was rather steady and the sandy path so dried and trampled flat, Percival risked slipping every few centimetres. Albus had wrapped an arm around his elbow, and for once he was grateful for the support. Otherwise this would have been a very embarrassing entrance. And Percival still had some kind of dignity to keep.

As they entered the village, Percival had the strange feeling as if stepping through cold water. Shuddering he halted for a few seconds. Albus let go and cocked his head. “What is it?”, he asked. Was the Professor shivering as well for a few seconds?

“I dunno”, Percival murmured, “Felt like I just stepped through a magical shield.” His voice was quiet. He forced himself to remain guarded, despite his tiredness. Letting his guard down was not an option. It never was.

Albus followed Percival’s gaze. He murmured: “I think, it’s just the wind coming from the hills. Relax, Percival. We should be pretty safe here.” He gave the Director a look, which he was not too sure about. Maybe he just wanted for Percival to shut up.

They began to walk through the town. There was a well in the centre of it, but it was so far away that Percival could not see what decorated the fountain. The houses did not seem to be the most modern ones. In fact, they were fairly old-fashioned in design, which only supported Albus’ theory of this being a closed community. Red roofs, brown walls and check blankets before small windows. Most houses had a little garden, in which the owners grew flowers or bushes.

The inhabitants seemed to have noticed they had visitors, because they stopped in what they were doing. A woman was sweeping the path before her house with a broom. Percival noticed she held the broom in her hands and did not use magic. Noticing his stare, she looked up and gave the Director a smile. He smiled weakly back.

In fact as Percival saw more people through the windows, he noticed more and more of those smiles. They were strange smiles. The lips pulled a bit too long and the eyes gleamed strangely hard. In fact as Percival observed them, he noticed this weird sense of cleanness and health, which felt almost like a contradiction towards the rural area.

“Why are they smiling like this?”, Percival hissed at Albus. An owl flew above their heads and landed in a little owlery nearby. It shooed and cleaned its wings. In a courtyard a dog barked, its two tails swinging from side to side. The animal pressed its nose against a fence and sniffed eagerly. Its owner gently tugged at its leash to get it away from the fence. Another one of those smiles.

“I am awfully sorry. He tends to get excited when we have guests”, the owner said and chided the dog quietly, “Spitz, sit down.” The dog barked again and sat on its hunches. Tails drumming, its tongue drooled between sharp teeth.

Albus smiled. “Of course not, Sir. Lovely dog you have here.” He looked at Percival and murmured: “I do not understand what is wrong, Mister Graves. These people are very pleasant and polite. They are very welcoming. Why must you see danger in every corner?”

“Nobody…” The protest died on his lips. Percival rubbed his crippled hand over his healthy arm. Maybe he was exaggerating? After all, communities were often isolated. He had been worried so much. It was nice for a change to be welcomed like this. Percival closed his eyes. The feeling of sand grounded him. He was safe. He was alive. He was alright. He had to remember this.

A man was coming out of one of the houses. He spotted them, and his eyes lit up in surprise. Hurrying over the man stopped before them. He was a lanky fellow with brown curls and dark eyes. He wore a red waistcoat and pale brown boots. The man clapped his hands and called: “Welcome! Enter at your free will and leave some of the happiness you bring.”

This time both Percival and Albus rose their brows in union. The Professor smiled wearily for the first time. “Hello to you too...”, he murmured.

“We do not get visitors often”, explained the man, “Allow me to bring you to Markheim, our mayor. He surely will want to see you. Would you follow me?” He turned around and walked away again. Percival gave a doubtful look at Albus. _Are you sure this is a wise move?_ Maybe he read his thought, because he gave Percival a gentle shove and followed the man. The ex-Director had no other choice but to join in. Even though everything in him wanted to turn around and run.

The villager lead them through the city towards a house, that stood a few feet away from the simple fountain. The stature was a woman in a robe; her arms draped around two children, which gazed up at her admiringly. The face was full of fondness. The woman was holding a wand between her fingers. The water ran out of her sleeves and over the children’s back. One of the children had a wand in its hand, the other did not. Percival rose his brow and gazed at the stature in confusion.

“Percival!” Albus stood at the doorsteps. Percival kept staring at this odd well for a few seconds before he hurried after him. This house was a bit larger then that of the others, but not much. It had the same red roof, the same white window sills, the same chimney smoke and the same wooden door. There were a few bushes planted in its small garden.

The living room was kept in shades of brown and red. There was the barest of furniture. A table with several drawers. Ink smeared across parchment and a few quills had been broken. There was a painting on the wall opposite the window besides a staircase. Albus stared at it. Percival followed his gaze and a knot formed in his throat.

The drawing was mostly held in black, blue and steel grey with a few accents of blood red. There were three men depicted upon it. They stood there, forming some kind of triangle. Faces stern and sharply drawn. Their eyes were mostly hidden in the shadows. They each were holding an item in their hands, but in the darkness and from this distance Percival could not decipher them for the life of him.

Their attention snapped back when steps came down the stairs. “Welcome, welcome”, a new voice said, deep and rich like flavoured wine, “Enter at your own free will and leave some of the happiness you bring in our humble midst.” The voice belonged to a tall man, barely younger then Albus. He had pale skin, which only appeared whiter in his black, tight jacket with the frills at the sleeves and the dark hair, which had been smoothly combed back.

“Hello”, Albus greeted back, “Markheim – I presume? Thank you for this unexpected hospitality. Not every community is this open to strangers.”

Markheim smiled gently. “Sirs, our community is best known for its openness. Every man, woman and child is welcomed. It’s our pleasure to offer hospitality and hopefully a home for such seeking souls as you.” He came closer and inspected them from head to toe. His hands slowly rubbed over his wrists. “Though, whom do I have the pleasure of meeting? I presume Stoat already introduced me to you.” The curly man nodded with a smile. He stood there, a bit in the distance.

“Yes, he did”, remarked Albus, “And of course” – he bowed – “my name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. And this is Percival Graves.”

Markheim’s eyes flashed. “Forgive my bluntness”, he called, “But Albus Dumbledore?  _The_ Albus Dumbledore? Friend of the famed alchemist Nicholas Flamel?” He eyed Albus with open curiosity. Percival could see the other one briefly shift his legs. His brows and lips twitched.

“Yes, the Albus Dumbledore”, he responded, “But really Dumbledore is fine. No need to make such a fuss about who I am.”

“Oh, forgive my excitement!”, replied Markheim, whose delight did not seem to waver the slightest, “It is just we rarely have such _prominent_ visitors here. It is quite an honour.” He gave a dismissive wave with his hand. “I promise I will try to conceal my excitement for now, Dumbledore. I understand it must be…”

Why was this man so delighted to see Albus? Had he never heard of this man before? Or read his articles? “Pardon my language”, Percival remarked and squinted his eyes, “But in what backwater town did we land? It was not our intention to come here.”

“Percival!” Albus gave him an angry look.

“I am sorry, I am just saying how it is!”

Markheim stared at Percival for a couple of seconds. His eyes were of a strange, blurred blue like water under a frozen lake. “Do not worry, Professor. I am not offended. As for you, Mister Graves, I know our little town is a bit distant from other towns. Still, we try to make everybody’s stay as pleasant as possible. Our village has the policy to welcome everybody with open arms and treat them equally.”

“We have no intent to stay!”, Percival called. This was getting ridiculous. They had stumbled upon this place by pure coincidence! They merely needed it for a rest! There were more important matters at hand.

Albus looked at him and hissed: “Percival, you are exhausted. Why not take this invitation and stay for a night?” Percival dropped his head and fell silent as Albus addressed Markheim again: “We would not mind staying for a little while. Do you mind telling us where exactly we are?”

“You are in Hungary”, explained Markheim, “Now I believe Theo has some spare rooms. You can sleep there.”

Albus bopped his head. “Thank you, Markheim.” He looked at Percival again and they slowly followed Stoat out again.

Markheim called after them: “Please make yourself at home.”

***

The wind whistled against the hollow stones. It was loud and shrill like a badly tuned flute. The quivering, high-pitched notes seemed to engage in a wild contest against the roaring of the waves, trying to overpower them. They licked against the rocky cliffs like hungry tongues. Foam sprayed around, dissolving in thin air.

Upon the highest cliff towered a castle of black stone. From its thick walls came sounds, almost drowned out by the roaring competition of wind and waves. Whimpering and pleading, sometimes a few faint cries. But the inhabitants of the castle had learned to shun the noises and ignore them. Only when they got unbearable loud, would one of the people hurry down the corridors. Then a new sound would shot through them. A fast flash and bang, followed by a yelp and a far quieter whimper.

Nurmengard prison had gotten many names. The prison without laws. The home of the mad wizard Grindelwald. The place worse then Azkaban. The one thing, everybody knew about Grindelwald and feared. The place, nobody wanted to end up in. The place, that had more rumours and assumptions then actual facts. The only thing people knew with absolute certainty was the fact that Nurmengard prison contained the offenders of Grindelwald’s reign of terror.

In the upper floor of the prison the wardens were having a break. They were wizards like anybody else, yet different all the same. Darkness seeped through the corridors, together with the cold wind. The wardens stared at a strange stone map, which was glimmering in the room like moonlight. Upon it, in richest colours, was a miniature version of the most important countries in the world. Parts of the map were drenched in green, some in red, others in yellow or grey. A line of gold slithered over the whole map.

A woman approached it. Her deep red hair fell over her petite face. Green eyes inspected the newest yellow spot crucially. What did this mean? What uncommon threat had approached this town? Had its location been found out? Should somebody investigate? Ivonne bite her lips in thought. Parts of her yearned to get out of these cold and harsh stonewalls just for a little while, however then she remembered: The officer did not do the investigation. That was the duty of the scout.

There was a low shoo at the window. An owl, drenched in rain water, hobbled onto the table. The bird flapped its wings and offered her a leg with a note. Head jerking around, the bird watched her as Ivonne read. The letter was written in a fast and scribbled writing. It was majorly short hand and even that was coded in parts.

The note said:  _Follow A. & P. Just in case. G. G._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that kudos and comments are the best thing for me to improve and stay motivated.


	14. New Friends and Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,  
> finally after another long break I can present to you chapter 14. I would like to point out that by now this story has over 50 kudos, and I got various comments stating for many people this fanfic is more a book then a fanfiction. You cannot believe how much this means to me. I am so happy that this story is something people love. It means the world to me.  
> This new chapter will have Albus and Percival find a proper shelter in the strange town, and we will visit a vary familiar time that most Grindeldore fans will likely recognise. Though I hope my version of the events will still be a surprise for you all.  
> Enjoy chapter 14 everybody.  
> Lots of love, Miss T

Stoat opened the door of a house a bit away from the fountain. Albus and Percival entered a cosy living room. A small table stood in the centre. The chairs were held in a simple design. A fire burned in the hearth not far away from them. Before it stood three, thin metal stands, through which a wire had been spun. From this wire hung a few shirts, a trouser and a cloak, drying. In a wooden basket besides the heart were long logs of wood.

The place felt rather rural, and with its simplified style it held a certain rustic charm. On a bookshelf (which contained roughly five books) stood a small, belly-shaped vase with what looked like some funny plant, that required regular watering. The green curtains of the house had been pulled tight, so that a dim light clothed the entire room.

“Theo!”, called Stoat, “Theo, are you home?”

“Coming!”

Steps came from a small staircase, hidden in the darkness of the second half of the room and they were greeted by a small man with a round, young face, green eyes and short, brown hair, cut in a bob. He wore a dirty blue, long cloak with various patches of different coloured fabric sowed upon it. His boots must have seen better days and the shirt, he wore underneath the cloak seemed to have been orange in earlier days, but now had been washed so often, it resembled more a fair brown.

“Oh.” Theo sounded surprised. He inspected Albus and Percival with a similar open curiosity then Markheim had. How rarely did visitors come to this village? Moreover how likely was it that they looked as awkward as Albus and Percival? Their outfits and different manners made them clearly stand out.

Stoat inquired if they could stay in this place for a while, and Theo quickly agreed. Once Stoat left them alone, Albus said: “I am very sorry that we intrude like this. You likely were not expecting guests.”

Theo waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Please, Professor”, he responded with a gentle voice, “That is no issue at all. I am always willing to welcome newcomers. Everybody here is.” He chuckled and gave them a smile, which caused Percival to stare in this mistrustful and anxious way he had not been able to get rid of, ever since they came here.

Before Theo had any chance to misread Graves’ demeanour, Albus angrily shoved his elbow in his side and hissed: “Will you _please_ stop doing that?!” Percival rubbed his crippled hand and scoffed at the Professor. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Poor man must be exhausted. Maybe he should sit down. Albus gestured towards the chair, but Graves shook his head.

He addressed Theo: “I too would like to voice my thanks, young one.”

The boy – Albus guessed he was roughly Newt’s age, maybe a few years younger – walked over to another door, which, as he learned later, lead towards the kitchen. “Sit please”, Theo remarked and nodded towards the table, “Are you hungry?” As if his question had been a command, both Albus’ and Percival’s stomach growled loudly, and they looked at each other, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Theo laughed and disappeared.

Percival leaned his umbrella against his legs. He placed his healthy hand over the crippled. Albus kicked his rucksack underneath his own chair. Now that they had a roof over their heads and finished their difficulty involving Lady Westenra and Felix Schmied, Albus felt himself relax.

“That kid’s nice, don’t you think?” He nodded his chin towards the direction Theo had come from.

“I believe so.” Percival yawned and rubbed over his eye for a few seconds. “Now what?”, he asked Albus, “We know the reason why Grindelwald was expelled. We know how he was as a child to some extent. Was this what you were after, Professor?”

Albus clasped his fingers together, careful to make sure his tattoo remained safely concealed. “It’s a start”, he confessed, staring away from the former Director for a couple of seconds, “Still we are far away from how I would like to know Grindelwald. That man… He is like an enigma. Like a riddle… No! He is the riddle, and he waits for us to solve it.”

Percival’s brows wandered upwards. “Where are you going with this, Professor?”

The Professor rummaged through his rucksack and pulled out paper and quill. “Are you familiar with this theory?” Albus scribbled onto his parchment and shoved it towards Percival. He scooped it up and read.

Looking up at the Professor again, he repeated: “ _The Criminal Man_ by Cesare Lombroso?”

“Yes!” Albus’ face lit up as he began to write down more words and drew arrows to illustrate his point. “ _The Criminal Man_ offers the theory that the way a criminal acts is in a very specific way. Especially that their heritage and upbringing shaped them into what they are nowadays. It also says how they cannot really break the circle. Now” – Albus tapped the quill against his chin – “bear with me. This theory obviously has quite a few flaws. For one, the idea that a criminal is deranged and criminality can be inherited and detected by certain birth defects is, in my opinion, absolutely ridiculous. As well as the idea of a criminal not learning of their flaws. With Grindelwald, we can clearly see that this is not the case. He is smart and he clearly learns from his past errors.”

Graves nodded in agreement. “Go on.” He leaned forwards, watchful and alert.

“I believe if we apply the fundamental rule of this study, that our upbringing directly relates to our actions, towards Grindelwald, we might be able to, with enough knowledge, foresee what he will do next. However for that we must learn all we can about the man before he became a revolution leader and terrorist.”

Percival clasped his hands over each other. He looked away. For a brief moment silence spun itself between them as his thoughts drew heavy curves into his face. His brows moved around, and those deep brown eyes seemed to darken.

Finally Percival broke the silence again: “If you believe that this theory might lead us to what Grindelwald’s plan is, then we should certainly try it. For if this can save lives, then it is of the utmost importance that we figure this ‘riddle’ as you called it out. However once we know of this criminal’s location, we have to do all in our power…”

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted when Theo returned. He was carrying a tray between his hands, on which stood plates, dark chocolate muffins, a can of milk and a tea pot. There was also a strange, little, black bottle. Percival tensed up at the sight of it. Albus reached forwards and took a hold of his hand. _Please calm down. I doubt, Theo’s gonna poison us. Besides why would he show it this openly?_

Theo placed the plates and food before them. Once again he was using his hands. Had he ever taken out his wand? He did have a wand, right? Yes, Albus could see a simple, slender wand in a holster around his hips. Theo coughed politely and sat down opposite to them. Albus’ head snapped around. “Please”, Theo offered, “take one. I made them myself.”

Percival and Albus picked up the muffins. Their brows shot up in union. Upon closer inspection, Albus noticed something weird. The baked goods felt very hard and the dark brown had a few black smudges. Albus held the muffin under his nose and gave it a cautious sniff. _Weird. Is it burned?_ He cocked his head at Percival. He too seemed sceptical. The Director gestured with his healthy hand, pointing at the muffin and then at his lips and rose a brow. Was it safe to eat those?

Theo’s face dropped. “Why aren’t you eating?”, he asked sadly, “Don’t you like them?”

Percival sucked the air through his teeth. His cheeks gained a red blossom. “No, no, no”, he stuttered hastily, “We, ehm, like your muffins. We, aahh-are admiring the work. Yes, we do!” He shot Albus a frantic look. The Professor gave him a brief grimace. They had no other choice. Whether they liked to or not, they had to at least try these muffins! Anything else would be rude towards their host.

Albus broke off a tiny piece of the muffin and placed it in his mouth. _Oh my god!_ The sensation was similar to when he had eaten three dragon balls in one go! The muffins did not just look wrong; they also tasted wrong! Magically made food often had a slight, funny aftertaste, but this… This was a new level of bad aftertaste! It was bitter and dry and sharp and burned.

Percival coughed and his face gained a greenish tan. The Professor likely did not look better either, however upon Theo’s puzzled look, Albus forced himself to swallow the piece. The muffins were not toxic or anything. They simply were inedible. Albus gave Theo an apologetic smile. “I am sure you put a lot of effort into these muffins, but we sadly cannot eat them.”

Theo rose his shoulders. “I had feared that. Well, it was worth a shot.” He scooped up his muffins and threw them all heartlessly in the bin. From where he sat, Albus noticed that there was more wrong gone food in there.

Percival asked: “Do you have anything else to eat in here? Anything actually eatable?”, he added carefully.

Theo nodded hastily. “I actually do. Wait, let me get it!” He got up and seemed to be about to head for the kitchen again.

“Why aren’t you just using ‘Accio’ to get the food here?”, Albus asked.

Theo froze. His back was turned to him. He lisped: “I...like walking around. I really do.”

Graves gave Albus a look, that spoke what the Professor was also thinking: He did not buy it.

Albus smiled. “Please, Theo. Let me get the food. What is it exactly?”

“Toast, cheese, ham and butter.”

He drew out his wand and directed it at the door. “Accio toast, cheese, ham and butter”, Albus called. The tip of his wand glowed and slowly with elegant swirls and twirls their dinner on plates floated towards them. As Albus laid the table, he felt Theo’s look upon him. He seemed to be staring at his wand. When Albus looked back however, the boy merely poured himself some tea. Strange, very strange indeed.

The ham and cheese made a good sandwich. It was moist and juicy without being too mushy. This with a glass of water. As they ate, Albus noticed how Theo opened the little, black bottle and poured a dark purple potion into a separate glass for himself.

“Ehm, what is that for?”, asked Percival as Theo nipped at the glass.

The boy downed the potion in one go, before he closed the bottle again. Only then did he answer their question: “I’m trans, Percival. This potion helps me with my transition. I’ve been taking it for a year by now.”

They shared fast looks, then smiled and nodded. “Okay”, they said. Theo let out a relieved sigh and smiled at them. With the mystery of the bottle solved, they returned to their dinner and the comfortable silence. This however did not last very long, for only after maybe fifteen minutes (and one sandwich less), Albus broke it by inquiring: “So, Theo, how long have you been living here?”

“Six months”, came the fast answer. Theo stuffed the last part of his sandwich into his mouth and started to chew. From the corner of his eye, Albus yet again witnessed how Percival became this strangely stiff and odd. He looked like he considered to run out. However with his heels dug into the floor, the Director staid where he was. What was the matter with him?

Albus scratched over the little beard at his jawline and cocked his head. “Six months?”, he repeated, “So you have not lived here for this long?” Come to think of it, Theo did speak with an accent, which was vaguely familiar to him. Albus had heard it before, but many years had passed. If his ears were not wrong, Theo spoke with what sounded like a slightly stretched way of Gellert’s German. His vocals were strangely flat and long.

Theo answered: “I used to live in Klingenbach. That’s a little, Austrian town at the Hungarian border.”

“Why did you leave?”

Theo massaged his upper arms with his hands and looked away. He explained: “Grindelwald’s Fanatics were attacking Austria. I fled. Hungary was the only place I could go… And well, I am safe here. And it’s nice. Really nothing to complain.” He smiled shyly.

Albus let out a sad sigh. He had read the newspaper headlines. GRINDELWALD CAUSES PANIC IN EUROPE. The title was fairly broad. Thus sitting opposite to somebody, who must have survived an attack, was heart-wrenching. Albus had never considered meeting somebody like this. “I am sorry”, he said.

“It’s okay.” Theo waved his hand. He rose and gathered their plates, piling them on top of each other. “You two must be tired. Bedroom is just upstairs.” Albus and Percival rose. Theo balanced everything to the kitchen. “See you tomorrow”, he called.

***

The roaring of water all around him. Percival could feel it soak through his clothes. Running down his back and neck, the waves hit his face. Percival swallowed drops of the liquid, and his stomach churned. There was something bitter in the taste, which made his very skin crawl. Percival spat out another wave and tried to swim to the nearest shore.

But the current was too strong. It dragged him under again and again. Percival battled with the waves. The world had turned into a muddy mess of brown and bubbles. He gasped as he finally managed to work his way back up the surface. Wet hair clinging to his head, Percival blinked multiple times and looked around. There had to be a way out of this!

But it was so dark here! He could hardly make out any shore. Was there even a shore? Percival could only see a few rocks between the water. The roar of the waves was accompanied by the howl of a wind over his head.

Biting his teeth together, Percival threw himself against the stream again. Paddling furiously, he fought his way through the waves. His eyes locked with a rock. It was oddly square and shiny. Like marble. Finally his hands got a hold of it. The surface was hard and smooth, slippery from the water. _Come on! Get up on it._ His muscles strained from the pull of the water. His fingers were numb.

Still Percival clung to that rock for dear life. Another roaring sound boomed around him. His eyes widened. _Oh no, no!_ A wave of enormous size came rushing down the stream. It crushed against the rock and positively ripped Percival from it. Yelling, a stream of bubbles escaped his mouth. The man waved his arms, kicked his legs and tried to push against the stream. But the wave just tossed him through the water like a leaf in the wind.

Percival screamed. Breaking through the surface again, he turned around and tried to see where the stream was heading. The roaring sound of the water got louder and louder. Was he… was he going down? His eyes widened and Percival screamed: “Noooo! No, not again! Please! I’ll do –!”

The Director jumped up in his bed. Sweat covered his skin, and Percival could still hear the scream hanging in mid-air. Where was he? Why could he no longer hear the river? Was he at home? Then why did this bed feel so strangely small? Also why were those blankets so bland? Had Percival forgotten to change them with the satin cushions? His heart hammered in his chest as he looked around.

Then very slowly it dawned upon Percival that he was not in his house in New York. In fact, he was not in America at all. He was in the house of Theo, sharing the bedroom with Albus Dumbledore. The realisation loosened the knot in his chest. Percival dropped against the cushions and exhaled slowly. He was not in danger. He was safe. It had been a bad dream. Nothing more then a bad dream.

His eyes fell on his crippled hand. The skin was strained and the fingers twisted. Percival could barely feel anything in the tips. He could only move the first three, while the rest remained stiff and uncomfortable. As if they were not really a part of him.

Taking the blanket with his healthy hand, Percival threw it away. He stared down at the disfigured leg. There was a dull pounding inside the flesh. It was coming from the bones, itching and horrible. His healthy hand rubbed over it as if it could soothe the cracked and dried skin. Gritting his teeth, Percival sighed and laid down on his back, staring up towards the ceiling.

This dream… It had not felt like one. More like a memory. A nightmare of a memory. A memory of a memory. Percival did not dare to think further. He did not want to think further. His leg and hand hurt more then they had ever done before. Percival could not go back to sleep. He needed out!

Reaching over the edge of his bed, Percival grabbed a hold of his umbrella. Pulling himself up, he placed his bare feet onto the ground. Each step Percival took made him fear his injured leg would give away under him. He was almost limping. He felt like an old man. _Disgusting!_

Finally Percival managed to step outside of Theo’s house. He stared up into the sky. Cold stars gleamed in all the black. Even they resembled _his_ eyes. This cold glitter, which hid a playfulness, that felt so macabre. His teeth gritted against each other so much it hurt. Percival’s healthy hand clutched the umbrella’s handle as hard as he could. He pictured it was Grindelwald’s neck, he squeezed. Pressed and pressed until the stars extinguished in his eyes.

His body shook and he dropped his head. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” Percival was talking with him and with nobody at the same time. “Why can’t you just rot and die? You… you… You are a monster! And I hate you! _I HATE YOU!_ ” His head snapped up, and the former Director shook his fist against the stars.

His voice echoed around him, loud and hollow. Percival stared up at the twinkling stars but he could see nothing in them. His chest heaved. What was the point in screaming his anger out? It would not change what had happened. What had happened? Percival could not even remember it. He did not want to remember it. Grindelwald had poisoned his political agency and life. For now all Percival could do was to help Albus Dumbledore to the best of his capabilities.

Getting information on Grindelwald. It was not how Percival had expected this all to go down. But then being an Auror meant there were many unexpected twists and turns in your career. And Grindelwald had proven to be a challenge for all of them. Majorly because of the unfamiliarity. This was a wizard, who played the political game in ways that could make some of the most ambitious Purebloods look dumb. Percival was never that much of a political player. Sure, he did advice Seraphina Picquery, but his strength had been investigation and making sure people followed rules. Percival did not make the rules.

Thus searching for clues was in parts his speciality. Still, Percival could not help but have the feeling he was no longer as fit for it as he used to be. Grindelwald had done broken something in him.

His breath formed a white cloud before his lips as Percival hobbled back towards Theo’s house. This would be a long and hard search. He should rather stop thinking about his own feelings and the past. Percival had work to do. He had to concentrate on that.

His look fell on Professor Dumbledore. He laid there in the bed, wearing a purple pyjama with golden checked pattern. He seemed to be sleeping quite deeply. His hands clutched something between him and his pillow. It looked like a little book, though Percival could only see one golden edge upon black leather of it.

His eyes squinted and his head cocked aside. Professor Dumbledore was weird. That had been Percival’s first impression of him, and that view had not changed. In fact, it had only intensified. As much as he knew he and Albus were technically on the same side, Percival could not help but feel the mistrust nagging at him. There was something about the way he talked…the way he referred to Grindelwald… It just did not add up. Usually people were not this hesitant to take action. But from what people had told Percival, Albus had been twiddling his thumbs idly for several years.

Even this search was not really what Percival had pictured. He had expected the Professor to help in the front lines somehow. But if he was honest with himself, Percival had no real idea what the Ministry precisely was expecting Dumbledore to do. He for one knew something here was not like it should be. But what was it?

***

Godric’s Hollow, 3th June 1899

The words swam before his eyes. Albus stared down at the book _Advanced Transfiguration Vol. 5._ His brain refused to string any sentence together. Staring at the paper, the tip of his quill hovered over it. Large drops of ink splattered across the surface. This was useless! Another wasted day!

 _Damn you, Ariana!_ He slammed the quill back into the pot and closed his eyes. His sister had had another one of her fits a few hours ago, and it had taken Albus and Aberforth until recently to make her calm down. And as always it drained him completely. Why was taking care of this handicapped girl so hard? Couldn’t she see that Albus had other things to do? He couldn’t always be there for her!

Was it wrong to blame somebody for something they could not even control? It likely was, but then Albus could not help it. The timing when Ariana had killed his mother couldn’t be worse. His final exams were about to happen. His future was at stake! And with it, that of his family! Merlin’s beard, whom was Albus kidding? His future was already majorly ruined.

He was stuck in a house as the head of the family. What a glorified title! Head of what family?! A badly tempered brother and a deranged sister! What did it matter what grade Albus got? Maybe it was his own pride. That voice whispering he had to be the best. After all thanks to his father’s actions, his family was seen with less respect. Albus worked hard to make sure people acknowledged them again. And he could not dare to let a failed exam ruin this!

Especially considering that it were his graduation grades. Albus had to make sure the notes for this were perfect. And transfiguration was something he was good at! Very good at. Still, his notes would be less then brilliant if Ariana kept interrupting him with her fits!

Albus shut the book. His brain had turned into mush. With an angry groan, Albus hit the smooth surface of his desk with his head. Staring outside of the window, he blew a raspberry. Wasted, wasted, wasted! That was how he felt. Wasted potential. Trapped potential. Why did he have to have such a bad fate?

There was a quiet wailing shoo from his window. Looking up, Albus recognised the old, small Kauz of Bathilda Bagshot. The bird sat at the window sill and pushed one of its legs towards him. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. But then things could not become worse! Taking the note, Albus learned that Bathilda apparently had a visitor at hers. If Albus wanted to come and meet him since he was his age?

Godric’s Hollow was not really the place where you expect people of his age to walk around. Actually the whole town seemed to say “Here lives an old grandma”. So somebody his age might actually be refreshing. Albus’ curiosity was peeked.

Bathilda Bagshot’s house was opposite to theirs. She was their closest neighbour. And the only person they treated like an actual neighbour as Albus’ mother had made sure nobody was welcomed. If he was not wrong, Kendra had even once shunned Bathilda when the older lady had done nothing but bring a cake over. Luckily Bathilda was a very persistent woman and after a while his mother and Albus had warmed up to her.

Bathilda’s house was a bit smaller then theirs and had a lovely garden with some funny, exotic flowers. They were very colourful and had bizarre shapes like stars or pears. A little path of rough pebbles lead towards the entrance. The door was a two-winged one, on top of each other in a pretty green shade. Bathilda Bagshot stood behind them, having opened the upper one.

She was an elegant, older lady with a lithe body, which somehow reminded Albus of a barbed wire. Her silvery-white hair was woven into a plait, going over her shoulder. Her dark eyes shone as they rested on Albus. “There you are”, Bathilda opened the door and waved him inside, “Come in, come in.”

Albus followed Bathilda, who lead him into her living room. The table had already been set. Cups and a pot of tea. Its sweet peppermint smell filled the air. On a plate stood a large chocolate tart with several dots of whipped cream upon it. Had she brought this from the market?

Though there next to the table on a chair sat somebody Albus had not yet seen before. Chair, balancing on its hind legs, the stranger leaned there, face hidden behind a book. Albus managed to read the title: _Fables of North England_. The newcomer seemed to be quite absorbed in his book.

Bathilda clicked her tongue. “Gellert”, she called, “Could you please place your book away? We have a guest.” There was a noise of complaint, coming from the reader. He sounded young. Probably only a year younger then Albus was. Then however the boy complied: He closed the book, placed it away and…

Albus’ heart seemed to stop for a few seconds. He was looking at the strangest boy he had ever seen. Blond curls ran across his neck like waves. He had a pointy face and distinctive cheekbones. His mannerism almost reminded Albus of a cat. But it were the eyes he could not turn away from. Only adding to the feline appearance, they were narrow and oval shaped. Albus had never seen a person with mismatched eyes. The right one was as golden as a coin. A blazing fire of amber, full of deep passion. But it was the left one, which fascinated Albus way more: It was of a weird, blurry blue, mixed with a hint of grey. Like water under a sheet of ice. It was so very bright. So full of light. Enrapturing.

“Well, hello there”, the boy said. He had a silky voice, which went up and down like the gurgling water of a river. It sent a tingle down the red haired boy’s spine. For a brief moment Albus was not entirely sure how to respond.

Bathilda began to cut each of them a slice of cake.

“Hey”, Albus finally managed to get out, “Are you the guest Bathilda has over?”

“Yes”, the boy responded, “I’m Gellert.”

“He’s my great-nephew”, explained Bathilda as she took her own piece.

“Oh.” Albus looked between both of them. He had not known Bathilda had a nephew of any sort. But then if he were honest, there were quite a few things Albus did not know about the old historian. “Nice to make your acquaintance. My name’s Albus. I’m a friend of Bathilda’s.” Likely her only friend in the Dumbledore family.

Gellert broke his chocolate cake into several pieces. He shoved a bit in his mouth. Swallowing, he asked: “How long have you been in Godric’s Hollow?” The knife and fork dug into the cake like the corpse of a dead animal.

“Almost my entire life.” It was not even a lie.

Gellert’s head snapped up. It was the first time he surveyed Albus with those mismatched eyes. What did he see? Suddenly Albus felt strangely conscious on how large his blue eyes were or how thin his wrist and nose. Fidgeting around his sleeves, Albus asked quietly: “Since when have you been in Godric’s Hollow?”

“Not very long.” His shoulders dropped. “Just a few days. Though I did manage to look around. You’ve got quite the interesting graveyard.”

Albus blinked. The graveyard was a place he could see from his backside window. Rows upon rows of tombstones. Some looked ancient to him. Albus sometimes walked across the yard and looked at all the stones. Though most of the names held little meaning to him.

Still, it surprised him that this stranger had seen the graveyard already. If he had only been here for a few days… A graveyard was not the first thing that came to mind for Albus when he entered a new town. But then what did Godric’s Hollow have to offer? Not much. Still, shouldn’t Albus have noticed the boy sooner?

Bathilda softly cut in: “You are looking quite exhausted, Albus. Are you alright?”

Albus startled. Was it so easy to see how much the last few days had tired him out? Maybe. But then how were you supposed to concentrate yourself when somebody kept banging against your door and demanded that you did this and that? Merlin’s beard, Albus could not be everywhere at the same time!

He dropped his head and confessed: “I have been trying to learn for my final exam. With more or less success.”

Gellert rose his brows. “What are your exams about? Maybe I can help. I mean… I may not have studied every subject, but still… Might be good if somebody can ask you questions, right?”

Albus blinked. Maybe learning in a different location could indeed help. “That would be great”, he responded, “I don’t mind explaining things to people.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” The boy jumped off his chair. Heading towards the exit, Albus noticed that he levitated his plate and cub with ease. His jaw dropped. Gellert had not drawn a wand for this or spoken a word. He looked back at Albus and smiled. “You are coming?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Maybe this visit was not such a waste after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments/constructive criticism are keeping me motivated to work on this long story.


	15. All In My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody.  
> After a month, I finally bring you what has to be the longest chapter yet. I am still really grateful for all the support and just want to say one thing: If anybody of my readers is an artist and wants to draw something based of this story, they are more then free to do so. I would love to see your work.  
> And now have fun with Modesty, getting involved in some shady business. Also Tina fans, I advice you to be strong as she is gonna get a really harsh reality check.

“Entering a restricted area, disrupting my Chief Interrogator during his work and causing an embarrassment for everybody involved.” Leonard Crouch dropped the report. He stared at Tina and Earnest with brown eyes hard like coal. His words were sharp like a rapier. “Can _somebody_ here tell me whose glorious idea this was?”

“Well, ehm, you see”, Tina gestured around, “That was, well, we...”

“Did Madam Picquery not teach you how to articulate yourself properly?” Mister Crouch leaned back in his seat.

Tina did not know what to say. “Of course she taught me how...”

Earnest interrupted her: “Uncle, I told her she could not go there. I tried to stop her. But she was not listening.”

Crouch remarked: “I don’t blame you. You’re a _reliable_ Auror.” Did he stare at her when he said that? Tina was not unreliable! She wasn’t! “You know what is expected of you. It seems MACUSA is so desperate they make any silly whirlwind an Auror as long as they can hold a wand.”

“MACUSA is not desperate!”, Tina yelled.

She was about to say more but a stern voice behind her said: “Tins, be quiet.” Porpentina turned her head and her whole posture dropped. Tobias Oates walked into the room. She felt burned. Tins. Never before had an Auror said this insult before a supervisor. Only MACUSA’s Aurors called her like this. They said she was as noisy and messy as a stag of tin cans, falling over.

Tina’s gaze turned to Earnest. He had lowered his head briefly like somebody, who tried to swallow a chuckle. How low could one fall? The British Auror immediately strengthened his shoulders when Tobias entered and gave a polite nod with his head.

Leonard turned his attention to Oates. “Under whose orders was Miss Goldstein in the interrogation room in the Department of Mysteries?” His voice was cool. “Yours? Maybe Seraphina’s?”

“I was under nobody’s orders!”, Tina shouted.

“Quiet, girl!” Leonardo hit his fist upon the desk. “Mister Oates, you better be honest with me in this. Did Miss Goldstein come down to spy? Did MACUSA believe it could steal our secrets? Or did you try to take something else?” His unblinking gaze rooted them all to the spot.

Her heart beat fast. Tina wanted to say something, but from Oates’ face she could read a warning: She better stay quiet now or things would get worse. Why were they accusing her of spying? That was ridiculous! Tina would never spy on any government. Sure she was a member of the Secret Service, but Seraphina Picquery never trusted her with complex spying tasks. Besides wasn’t MACUSA better at interrogation anyway? Frankly, Tina did not even know how the interrogation process worked in the Ministry of Magic. Why should she?

Oates weighed each of his words carefully as he spoke: “Mister Crouch, I can vouch for this: Madam President sent both of us overseas to help our British friends to capture Grindelwald. She gave none of us any secret tasks. I am sure, Miss Goldstein did not mean to interrupt this session.”

“That is no excuse”, responded Crouch sharply and rose. Placing his hands upon the table, he explained: “Miss Goldstein had no business in being near the Interrogation Room. Mister Oates, if it laid in my power, this action would have cost her her badge and she would have left the country with the next boat!” Her face turned pale. Leaving Britain because of this? Tina had not even thought that far.

“But alas I have no authority to do this”, continued the Director, “However understand: If I or any of my Aurors have the slightest reason to doubt why you are here, then you both will immediately return to your country, and MACUSA can forget Britain’s cooperation with them in the war against Grindelwald.” Tina flinched; and Oates looked equally shocked.

Leonard snapped: “Now – Get – Out – Of – My – Sight!”

***

“I hope you are happy.”

Tobias Oates locked their bedroom with a fast flick of his wrist. Tina pushed and pulled on her sleeves. Her gaze was fixated on her shoes. She could not look Oates in the eyes, fearing what she would find there. “Mercy Lewis!” Tobias’ voice had risen, but he was not yet shouting. “What were you thinking, Tina? You made Mister Crouch accuse you of spying. And we have been here for what? Two days? Three? A week at most? And you gave Crouch a reason to mistrust you already! By all the Founders of Ilvermorny, what were you doing down there?!”

Porpentina shifted from foot to foot. Finally she rose her head. Oates’ eyes were narrow, and his lips thin and almost wide. Tina swallowed. Oates, the epitome of calmness and rationality, lose his cool? For many Aurors, it was unheard off. “Answer me.”

Porpentina jumped and finally stammered: “I...I just heard this absolutely dreadful scream. I grew worried.” The sight of the Dementors still choked her heart. How this swarm of black, rotten things had circled the poor man, their rattling coughs filling the air… Even the memory caused her to shudder.

“You are acting as if you have never seen an interrogation before”, called Oates angrily. He stopped when he saw the shock in her face. “I cannot believe this. Miss Goldstein, did you honestly believe being an Auror is all fame and glory? That it is easy? Our information has to come from somewhere.”

“I...I did not expect it to be this cruel”, Tina confessed with a sad shriek.

“Tina, we have the death penalty”, replied Oates, “Torture is a part of our work as not all criminals will spill their secrets, if you drag them into MACUSA. Hell, why else do you think did Grindelwald look this wrecked when he was in our custody? Torture’s something both Aurors and dark wizard do. It may not be pretty, but it is a sad necessity.”

“I know”, Tina grumbled and crossed her arms, “I know the books on the laws, governing interrogation. I know we have to do it. Still, actually seeing it...” She shuddered and shook her head like somebody, coming out of water. By God, Tina had to stop thinking about this!

Oates shook his head again and said: “I hope you realise that this action was not only unnecessary, but makes our stay here difficult. Like Crouch said: The Interrogation Room is a restricted section for a reason. Nobody except for the people that work there is welcomed in it. Most certainly not a stranger. You had no reason or business to be there. Crouch had every right to accuse you of spying.”

“But I am no spy!”, Tina cried, “I never spied on a politician! I spied on criminals and bandits. That was my job. You know that, Oates!”

“It does not matter what I know. It looked like that for Crouch.” Oates shook his head. “Madam President won’t be happy when I report this to her. I wish I could say I am surprised, but I am not. You have always been a massive problem case as an Auror, even as a student from what I hear.” He looked at her as if he saw Tina for the first time. “Sometimes I cannot believe you managed the test. You should have already failed at the admission examination.”

His words were like a punch in the guts. Tina could see his lips move, but she heard nothing. Her thoughts were far away. She was back in the Auror trainings’ camp and heard her mentor (the how many was it?) yell at her for having failed at a stance again. Tina recalled shifting through massive piles of books way into the middle of the night. Trying to be just as good as everybody else. No, better. Even better then her instructors.

“I am a good Auror”, Tina snarled through her teeth.

“Are you?”, Oates scolded her, “Name me one mission, where you succeeded! You never listen to your superior. Even when you had Seraphina Picquery as a mentor! You did not use anything she told you. And she had a lot more patience then your other mentors. You are disrespectful towards people above you. You are trying to correct things that do not need to be corrected. You are going out on secret, crazy activities on your own, believing just because you are an Auror you can get a free pass for this behaviour. You have troubles in a crisis and you cannot duel!”

He buried his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “Maybe it would be best if you gave me your badge. After all, even with you being reinstated, you do not follow anything I tell you. You are endangering yourself and everybody around you. What was Picquery thinking when she sent you overseas? You are not ready for this war. You may never be.”

This shook Tina awake. “You cannot do this, Oates!”, she called. When he was about to interrupt her, she added: “No, you _listen_ to me now! Please. Oates, you and Seraphina both say I cannot do this right. Well, how are you expecting me to get better when you have already decided that I am a failure? You do not give me a chance to proof myself! You never did.”

“Tina, watch your language!”

“Give me one last chance, Oates! I beg of you!” Tina seized his hands. “I can be a better Auror. Just give me one last mission to proof myself. One last mission; and I will never bother you again or step out of line. Please.”

“If you fail this mission, you will remove your badge, step down from your position as an Auror and return to the Wand Permit Office. No more funny tricks and crazy adventures. Understood?”

Her eyes widened in desperate hope. “Understood. And if I succeed?”

“You can stay an Auror”, grumbled Oates, “Now listen. There seems to be some business going on at the Globe Theatre. I want you to have a look at that. Just look around and find clues. Present these findings to me and you keep your job. I give you a week.”

***

Something was wrong with Credence. He felt different. When Modesty woke up, a cold wave of emotions rushed over her. They felt damp like clothes, drenched in water. What was it? Guilt? Worry? Shame? And yet underneath all this, Modesty could feel something hot like molten lava. Hidden inside a fragile core.

What was it? It felt so savage and longing. It was yearning for something; _wanting_ something. Modesty sat up in the bed, startled by its intensity. Her gaze turned to Credence. He laid there, body tense. There was something glimmering on his cheeks. Modesty cautiously reached forwards and brushed her fingers over it, surprised to find tears.

Why were they there? Credence had seemed so happy a few days ago. But now he was strange. He had been like this before. Many, many months ago. When this Graves fellow had walked into their life. It felt like ages by now.

When Modesty thought back on it, it almost overwhelmed her. She had known something had not been right. The way, Ma had felt the urge to punish Credence even more frequently then she usually did… That sharp tang of fear, Modesty tasted on the tongue whenever she was near her. What was Ma so afraid off? How much had she known? Where had she had her knowledge on witches and wizards? Had she known what Credence and she were? Had this been the reason her speeches had pounded so much? And she had dragged them around, day by day?

Charity did not seem to mind, but then she had never mind. The special snowflake of Mary Lou. The girl, that did everything right. The daughter, that nodded and loudly agreed. That had encouraged them to spy and even threatened them. Modesty kept trying to tell herself, Chastity could not help it as she was the closest to their mother. She was the model child. She was how everybody else should be.

But then the grim man had appeared into their life and changed everything. Credence had sneaked away more often. Modesty had sensed a mixture of excitement and guilt around him. It had been similar to how he was now. But now he was worse. What had Grindelwald done to him? What was this emotion as tricky as tar, trapping you in it? Gooey, sweet and bitter at the same time?

It was hard to pin Grindelwald down. And the feelings Credence carried around him… They were as foreign to her as German was to both of them. Could there be danger from all this? Was there anything Modesty could do to help?

***

“You have a rare and special ability.”

Modesty sat on the floor; Credence on a chair behind her. They watched Grindelwald. He had agreed to finally start teaching them about magic. And he would begin with Modesty and her gift. “Legilimency is something each capable wizard can do, however for that they usually have to rely on a wand. They also can only focus on one person. You are a born Legilimens. You have the advantage that you are not bound by such restrictions.”

Gellert smiled. “You have been using your Legilimency ever since you arrived at Mary Lou’s place. Maybe even beforehand. However a Legilimens can do far more then just feel a person’s emotions. That is a passive activity and unique to you. But a Legilimens is more known for one thing: The natural inclination to read another person’s mind.”

Modesty gasped. Credence and her shared excited glances. Modesty leaned forwards, hands on the floor. “How do you do that?”, she breathed and added in a raspy whisper: “How...do _I_ do that?”

Gellert laughed and waved his hands. He remarked: “I had expected you would be on the edge of your seat when I tell you this. Well, before we start, you must know a few things on how the mind works. Now for a layman a mind is like a book, which you simply open and read the thoughts from the pages. However that is not the case.”

Gellert rubbed a hand over his lips. “The mind… is more like a house. With many rooms, floors, doors and cases. Things, which happened recently, will be easily accessible and in the first few rooms. However the older events are in the more dusty and hidden rooms like the attic or cellar. Moreover this house is constantly changed and adapted. New floors, staircases and rooms are added all the time. Items get mis- or replaced into new boxes and sometimes hidden extremely hard.”

“Now in case of a Muggle you can simply enter this house and look around as much as you dare to. It is not that easy with a wizard. A skilled wizard can apply Occlumency to protect their mind. It is as if the house suddenly has a guard dog and doors and boxes get locked.”

Her brows wandered up. _Okay, that is unexpected._ It really sounded complex. More complex then she had anticipated.

Gellert once again dismissively waved a hand. “Easy there, Modesty”, he comforted her, “I am not expecting you to become an expert over night. For now, most of what I said should not concern you. Just keep it at the back of your head for later. All I want you to be able to do for now is hear someone’s thoughts. Basically make active use of your Legilimency.”

Modesty nodded, before she immediately repeated her question on how to do this. Grindelwald sighed. “I am afraid I cannot give you a very good instruction for this”, he confessed, “I am not a natural Legilimens myself, even though I am good at the art of Legilimency. Just try to enter somebody’s head.”

How was Modesty supposed to enter somebody’s head? Did she have to touch somebody for that? The girl remembered how she could feel emotions around her without touching anybody. Though touching them did help her to concentrate. Maybe if she just held her own hands and closed her eyes?

Modesty interlocked her fingers with one another and closed her eyes. Her brows furrowed and she tried to hear anything. Outside there were the noises of the street. The neighing of horses and the crunching of wheels. Together with the steps of dozens of shoes. But those were everything Modesty could hear. She clenched her jaw and tried harder. Her stomach felt like it wanted to slip into her throat. But even after Modesty felt like the pressure inside her would cause her to explode, there still was nothing.

Her shoulders dropped. “I...can’t do it”, Modesty confessed, “Gellert, what am I doing wrong?” She looked at him, before she turned to her brother. “Credence, what am I doing wrong?” It was disappointing. How could magic be this hard to preform? Shouldn’t it be easy? Did it not simply mean to wave a wand and say a few funny words?

Gellert knelt down before her. He took Modesty’s hands. His fingers gently squeezed them. “Modesty, I am not expecting you to be able to do this in the first try. That would have been quite impressive. This is very advanced magic and you did not grow up in a magical household. You did not pick up on it like a Legilimens usually does. How could you? Mary Lou likely suppressed it from ever becoming active. It had to remain passive to keep you save.”

“Try to relax”, he suggested towards her.

Her breath hitched in her throat and Modesty stammered: “I don’t know how...” She wanted to succeed in this! What would Grindelwald do if she failed again? Moreover what if he had been wrong and Modesty could not do it? Would he stop training her? And what about Credence? Maybe he did not train him at all then!

“Hush”, whispered Gellert, “This is not a test. There is no pressure. You can do it at your pace. Believe me, I know what a panic attack feels like. I had the same issues when I was asked to preform a spell before my teachers.”

“You and having a panic attack?”, replied Credence in disbelief, “I cannot imagine that.”

Gellert laughed. “Oh, doch. Laut meiner Mutter sah ich aus wie ein Stück Frischkäse.” His eyes sparkled in amusement as he turned his look back towards Modesty. “Luckily there was a trick my mother used to do when I could not relax.” He rose his hands and softly rubbed his palms against each other. Something fair and warm sparked between them.

“Close your eyes”, Gellert instructed. He then placed his palms on her lids. A quiet sigh escaped Modesty. Grindelwald’s hands were so warm and soft. As if he had captured the sun. Modesty could let herself fall into the warmth and know she would be caught. Her breathing slowed down and Modesty did not even realise how Gellert removed his hands from her lids.

She sat there, almost haunched over, with shut eyes. The corners of her mouth were pulled down. The sounds of the city were now intermingled with something else. Fractures of conversations flitted in and out of her head. _I need to buy groceries… Dammit, I missed that train… Hopefully Martha remembers to pick up the kids…. Where did I put my watch?_

Her eyes shot open, and Modesty almost staggered to her feet as she called in excitement: “I did it! I was in people’s heads!” Her chest swelled in pride.

Gellert Grindelwald clapped his hands. On his face was a bright smile. “Excellent, Modesty”, he praised her.

Credence clapped her on the shoulders and remarked: “That is amazing, Mo.”

Modesty’s smile slowly faltered. “But there is a problem”, she confessed, “I do not know who thought what or where the thoughts were coming from.”

“That will come with practice and concentration”, assured Gellert her, “Do you want to try it again?”

She nodded, determined now. Her eyes closed and she slowly inhaled and exhaled. Modesty tried to replicate the feeling of warmth and safety Grindelwald’s trick had given her. He did not want to help her this time. Somehow Modesty managed to click in a lot easier this time.

“He’s so handsome… I wonder if he ever truly notices me. But then why should he?” The words left her almost in a trance. There was a loud clattering sound, and Modesty startled up. Credence had jumped from his seat so rapidly that the chair had fallen backwards. He was pale in the face for a couple of seconds, but when his gaze found hers, his cheeks coloured in bloody red. His lips pressed thin.

And at that moment Modesty understood. “Credence...”, she stammered and sprang to her feet. Her brother stormed past her and headed towards their room. “Credence, wait!”, Modesty shouted. Spinning around again, she caught a glimpse of Grindelwald, who sat there, arms crossed over his legs, body leaning forwards. He stared at them with such a predatory look, her blood froze in her veins. Modesty bolted after her brother.

***

Credence had slumped himself onto a chair by the window, back to her. The curtains were pulled forwards, making the light of the room dizzy and foggy. Involuntarily Modesty had to think about how Credence used to hide in the attic and she could hear Mary Lou searching for him. “ _Credence Barebone, where are you? What have you done now?”_

It had always been Credence. Hardly ever Modesty. And never Chastity. Sometimes some of the other boys would act out of line, but their misbehaviour was normal. Usually Ma just had to spank those boys on the bum, and they would heed their manners and live by the commitments. But Modesty’s and Credence’s action… They were a whole different story entirely.

She carefully shut the door behind her. Credence did not turn around. Why was her heart beating so badly? Why did it feel as if Modesty had stepped upon a viper, which had sunk venomous fangs into her thighs? She swallowed. Her voice was thin.

“I am sorry, Credence. I had not meant to say that out loud…. I did not...”

“You were in my head.” Credence’s voice was low, guttural. It sounded more like that of a bear then a human. Modesty flinched. His eyes had turned to her. They were as white as that of a blind man. Modesty looked away and clutched her fingers around her wrists. “What were you thinking?” He had never sounded so angry.

“Nothing”, Modesty whispered and slowly shook her head, “I just tried to do… I had not.. Please I did not mean….”

“It does not matter what you meant”, snapped Credence, “You had no business being in my head! Why could you not keep your mouth shut?!”

Around them, the entire floor creaked. The bed groaned as if an unknown weight pressed down upon it. The light flickered. Modesty could not see the Obscurus, but she knew it was close. So awfully close. Modesty made herself small and whimpered: “Credence, please… You are scaring me! I should not have said your thought. I did not know what I was doing. I really didn’t!”

“Forget it”, Credence responded unapologetically and the veins on his skin blackened. It almost seemed as if it was about to be shed off like a second skin. “I don’t care that you did not know. Grindelwald should never have known this.” He brushed his hand over his lips as if he tried to whip away something. “Just get lost.”

“Credence…”

“ _GET LOST!_ ” With these words, the skin on Credence’s body tore. In a gust of wind, followed by something long, thin and black like organs spilling on the ground, the Obscurus broke out of him. Modesty backed away as far as possible. In the surges of black and red, she could spot the cat-like, fleshless skull of the Obscurus and its glowing white eyes. A maw of teeth opened in a hoarse scream, and with a dangerous quickness, the monster threw itself against the window. Credence’s chair was flung aside and as the window broke apart, the Obscurus flew away into the night. Leaving Modesty to stare out of the gaping, ragged hole.

***

Gellert Grindelwald was feeling great! His plan had turned from a disaster into an opportunity, so glorious, so golden, he could not help but congratulate himself! He had both Barebone children in his grip. Couldn’t any triumph be greater? He had what he had come to America for – and so much more!

The dark wizard was more fascinated with the brother then the sister. He was already an adult, and thus there would be no problem into sending him into battle. But that was not the important aspect about him. Credence Barebone was an Obscurus. A weapon, inside of a fragile human core! And he had him! No matter how often Gellert recalled it, the thought still thrilled him!

When Seraphina Picquery and her Aurors had slaughtered Credence in cold blood, Gellert had been distraught and mad with anger. Yet again an institution of power had shown its hypocrisy in all its glory. If MACUSA was supposed to look after its community members, then how come they had not considered to recheck if they knew off all wizards in America? How come Mary Lou’s action could have taken place only streets away without anybody even bothering to look into the matter?!

How come it had taken the disaster of an Auror named Porpentina Goldstein to actually put the Second Salemers into the President’s focus? And even then they had not bothered to really act! If Seraphina Picquery was this paranoid of discovery – if her reaction towards Credence was anything to go by –, then how come she had not dealt with Mary Lou far sooner? How had she allowed the development of an Obscurus to happen at all?

Oh, what glorious future and safety they all would have, if his vision was true! Such cruelty and injustice in the subway would have never occurred. Fausts Teufelspakt, an Obscurus would have never been able to manifest. And if it had developed, the whole community would have tried to treat it. A magical child was a treasure and thus deserved all respect and care in the world! Mary Lou would have never gotten so far as to harm Credence! She would have been punished for her actions! She would have been killed or locked up, for that was all she deserved for her inhumanity!

When Credence had been killed, Gellert had feared his efforts in regards to finding the Obscurus had been wasted! For not only would the parasite have been an excellent weapon, but most of all a symbol to all his fellow wizards. A sign of what happened if they did not put Muggles into their place!

But then his Sight had begin to show him images in his MACUSA cell. Images, that heavily indicated that Credence was alive and had left the country. Together with his visions, which had tasted of victory, it had been a major catalyst to making Gellert break out of the cell. And the shadows, his most trusted allies, had lead him into freedom.

Gellert was swinging back and forth on his chair. The Deathly Hallow necklace dangled between his fingers, and Gellert watched it circle around, catching the dim light in the silver of the triangle. He had taken the necklace from Credence when he slept. He no longer needed it. After all he had found the child. All Gellert had to do, was make sure Credence never learned the truth. Neither about who Grindelwald was nor about what this all was about. After all, ignorance was a great tool.

But he had not just ignorance to use now. Modesty had so foolishly blurted out Credence’s feeling for him. Gellert had already assumed the boy was more then just touch-starved and tested the waters with that kiss. And if the thought was anything to go by, it was still very much on Credence’s mind. The boy was not his type. He was too feeble and meek. But if Gellert could gain something by pretending to share a similar attraction for him…

Modesty was the tricky case. There was an air of intelligence about her. Mistrust, that was held in healthy amounts. Despite being the younger one of the two, Credence clearly trusted her judgement.

Modesty already had her suspicions, and Gellert could not allow her to figure him out. She may be a girl, but she had the heart and intelligence of a man. Gellert dared to believe she could rival quite a few people. She was a threat to him. But also a necessity. For right now she was the only thing, that kept Credence by his side! Until Gellert was sure of his loyalty, the dark wizard had to make sure Modesty discovered as little as possible.

A sudden, loud crash from the bedroom. Gellert sprang to his feet and drew the Elder Wand. His other hand shoved his necklace into a little box. Next to it laid a bracelet and another necklace, both having the Deathly Hallow symbol and covered in blood. The door opened and Modesty entered, white as chalk.

“What happened?”, Gellert asked immediately and stepped towards her, “Where is your brother?”

“We fought”, confessed Modesty, “He’s gone!”

His eyes widened for a couple of seconds. “You mean he changed?”, Gellert demanded a clarification.

“Yes, he turned into the Obscurus.” Modesty’s eyes flitted towards the window, almost as if she expected to see the black blur of the Obscurus to float past the glass. “I don’t know where he went. We have to find him.” She tried to rush past him, but Gellert caught her wrist.

“Relax”, he remarked, “He’ll come back. He has nowhere else to go.” Gellert walked towards the window and peered outside. The Obscurus could fly fast. There was no chance to find him now. But then Gellert was not too concerned. So far, he had managed to track Credence down each time. Not because he had a necklace, but because Gellert had the shadows, who were like rats in the city. They had their eyes and ears everywhere.

The girl had not calmed down. Gellert could see her reflection in the glass. She was pushing and pulling around on her sleeves. The dark wizard’s shoulders dropped. He crossed his arms behind himself. “What is it?”

The reflection moved closer. A stoic head tilted itself aside and eyes shone in worry. “What have you done with Credence?” She was getting right to the point. Had she heard them through the door? Had Credence told her? No, Modesty would not ask otherwise. Gellert kept his eyes on her reflection, observing each move she did.

“I do not know what you speak off, Modesty.”

“You do!” Modesty took an aggressive step forwards. “That thought Credence had, it had to come from somewhere! What did you do?”

“You do realise that such a thing like attraction exists, right?”, Gellert sneered. His lips tutted and he half turned his head to look at her.

Defiance stared back at him. Modesty had crossed her arms and bit her lips. Her blue eyes locked with his mismatched. He could practically feel how she was trying to enter his mind. It was a laughable attempt really! Gellert Grindelwald could see her falter after what must have been only a minute or two. He had not even felt her grace his mind.

“I know that something like attraction exists”, continued Modesty, “But I also think you are not telling us everything you know.”

“You are still a child, Modesty.” Gellert laughed and waved a hand as he turned around. “There are some things that are just not your concern.”

She gasped for breath. “Of course they are my concern!”, called Modesty and her face looked more alive then Gellert had ever seen it, “Credence is my brother! Maybe not by blood, but I love him like a brother. He does not change into the Obscurus over nothing. What. Did. You. Do?”

So much fire and passion. Such care for one another. Gellert had seen nothing like it in the Dumbledore family. Thus he had never really believed his friend, when Albus had proclaimed his family was more important then his cause. A family, he had not cared about before then!

Gellert looked Modesty up and down as if he saw her for the first time. Against better judgement, the dark wizard felt a shard of respect blossom in his chest. That little girl was a fighter! Even more so then her brother was. Still, fighter or not, it would not change what Gellert was about to do. If a fighter did not know what he fought against, he had no chance of winning.

The dark wizard responded: “I did not do a thing. Credence chose to see what he saw in my doings. I maybe pushed him in the right direction.” Who knew this kiss would spark such a phenomenal response? From Credence’s immediate reaction, Gellert would have thought, the boy had hated it.

Modesty did not seem to be satisfied. “Are we not friends?!”, she suddenly busted out, “You are asking us to trust you blindly, but you won’t grant us the same curtsey.” She once again looked at him. Her voice trembled in rage as she whispered: “I swear, if I think for once that you are endangering Credence, I will not rest until your head is on a spike.”

It were these words that made Gellert look fully at her. Modesty was staring at him in a daring and challenging fashion. They both knew the predicament they were in. _You need me, and I know it._ One look of Modesty’s blue eyes said it all. Well, well, if she thought she could be a match to him, Gellert would put her to the test.

His gaze darkened and his lips pulled into a sinister smile. He wanted Modesty to see her own downfall and choose it despite better judgement. Gellert whispered: “You are right. I have not been honest with either of you. Komm mit mir diesen Nachmittag. Dann klärt sich für dich alles auf.”

***

There was one part in all cities, that everybody pretended did not exist. The homes of criminals, thieves and liars. The streets, where prostitutes hunted for their money. The place, ruled by the mob and the simplest desires: Hunger, the greed for jewellery and the lust for sex. It were the parts of the city the Ministries were ashamed off, but nobody actively did anything to stop them from growing like a nasty cancer. So instead the government turned their eyes away and shut their ears.

It were these parts of the city, Gellert made himself familiar with as soon as he entered any major city for the first time. The dark wizard familiarised himself with its system of streets and corridors until he knew it and its nasty inhabitants like the back of his hand. For what others saw as a splat of shame upon the Wizarding Community, Grindelwald saw as a harvest of possibilities and opportunities. Many people, working for his cause, had come directly from this area as his new world was a tempting promise for many.

Thus Gellert and Modesty appeared in a dingy street this afternoon. Tall houses stood around them. The windows were so dark and dirty, one could hardly see into them. Water gathered around their feet on pebble stones. It dropped down from the roof’s and sprayed out of leaky pipes. Leaves swam in it. There was a rat, the size of a small cat, paddling in a green, dirty barrel. The air smelled of dirt, rubbish, cigars, which had not been properly stamped out, and with a fair metal pang mixed into itself, the smell of washed down blood.

Modesty froze and clutched to his arm. She was breathing shallow. “Where are we?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. The rat climbed out of the barrel. Shaking the water out of its long, ragged fur, it sniffed the air and then hurried away, only inches away from Modesty’s feet. The girl jumped like a scared deer. They stood there and watched the rat disappear into another stream of water, which lead underground.

“Brixton”, Gellert rasped, his hand heavy and sharp on her shoulder, “Not the best place for people at night. Stay close to me.” And with these words he headed down the street. Modesty dashed after him, fearful of loosing him. A few other people came their way. Most wore hoods. Some recognised Grindelwald and promptly changed street sides. Gellert had proven he was not somebody you should cross.

Finally they reached their destination. The _Deaf Ghoul_ pub clawed itself between two houses, towering over it. Gellert halted by the large, milky window and peered through it. He could barely make out several tables, at which sat various figures. Witches and wizards by their pointy hats and slightly too long dresses. Between them hurried on long, bony legs in dirty skirts house elves, balancing trays with food. And was that a giant, digging into a whole roast beef in the corner?

Not too many people and it seemed to be the usual folk. Gellert nodded to himself. His business could easily be rolled off here. And even if somebody tried to question his presence here, the bar keeper and Grindelwald were friends. And if she could not make any trouble-maker calm down, a well-placed curse of his would.

“We are not going to go in there, are we?”, Modesty asked. Her face was pale and she trembled uncontrollably.

“Yes, we do”, Gellert responded calmly. Hand once again planting itself onto the girl’s shoulder, he slowly began to massage her tense muscles. Which only seemed to make her tense even more. “Don’t be scared. I am here. Nobody will be able to hurt you. And I will hurt them if they try to.”

Modesty did not look like she had calmed down. White faced, she nodded towards the door. “Okay… Lead the w-way.”

They entered the pub. The air was thick from the smoke, inhaled by cigarettes and cheap pipes. A few candles burned in what seemed to be various animal skulls, which were scattered among the tables. Dozens of eyes looked at them for a few seconds. They scanned Gellert and Modesty, but upon recognising the dark wizard most of them turned away. Gellert and Modesty could cross the room and head for the bar.

Modesty looked around in fear and curiosity. When her head turned towards the rustic, muscular woman, who was cutting fish at the bar, she gasped in surprise. “That’s Froni”, she whispered and looked up at Gellert, “You knew that she worked here, didn’t you?”

“Why else would I have come here?”

They stopped at the bar. Froni cut off a salmon’s head and dumped it into a basket, which contained various other chopped off fish heads. “Why”, she snarled, her accent heavy in her voice, “Look who it is.” The bloodied knife dug itself into the edge of the table. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What brings you here, Grimmwood?”

Gellert lowered his voice: “I have a little order. I was wondering if you could make me and my guests a special fish plate for the evening.”

Froni blew a raspberry. “Can do that. You definitely need it.” She pinched one of his slim arms. “Look at him, lassie”, she addressed Modesty, “That man’s more a toothpick then a human.”

“Cut it out, Froni!” Gellert brushed her hand off. “Can we have a look at what fishes you have in store?”

“Can do.”

Froni waved them behind the counter. She opened a door, which through a narrow staircase lead underneath the pub. They found themselves in a large, round cellar. The air was freezing. Froni waved her wand and lit up a few oil lamps, which stood in the corners of the room. In their light, they could see piles of wrapped up chunks on the ground and in shelves.

Froni waded through a few piles and finally halted before one of the shelves. Holding the oil lamp before herself, the muscular woman squinted her eyes. Finally she grabbed a lever and pulled it down. There was a rattling and churning of cogs, chains and bolts; and the whole shelf tilted itself aside as if it was a door. A narrow passageway gazed at them.

“Watch your steps”, remarked Froni, “The floor is slippery.” She held her lamp up and shambled into the corridor without any hesitation.

Modesty stood rigid and frozen in her spot. “I don’t like this”, she whispered.

Gellert stepped aside and gestured towards the corridor. “You go first.” Modesty swallowed. Following her with his mismatched eyes, Grindelwald watched the girl head into the tunnel. Sauntering after her, Gellert grabbed a string, hanging from the ceiling, and gave it a pull. Behind him, the shelf closed with the same rattling noises. The corridor was long and winded like a snake, which had dug its way through the earth. The path was steep, and the ceiling sometimes so low, Gellert had to dug on occasions to avoid hitting his head.

Moistness drifted through the stone. They must be miles underneath the city. There was no risk of getting lost as this corridor had no side tunnels. With Froni as their guide, they finally reached a part, where the tunnel opened into another room. Here the air was dry and a few slits in the ceiling allowed for a bit of light to fall into the place.

Modesty’s eyes widened in surprise for this room was occupied by quite a few people. They were all gathered around a strange device. It resembled a table, however there was a large sort of hammer hovering over it, which with a series of levers could be lowered onto a tympan. Besides this device was what looked like a wooden black board, upon which somebody was placing small squares with letters onto a stick with his magic, thus forming whole lines of text.

“What is that?”, asked Modesty in disbelief and looked around, now more curious then afraid. The wizards were mostly ignoring her as they formed rows and rows of text, which then was drenched in ink, before they were placed into the form, which then lowered itself onto a sheet of paper in the tympan. As it pulled itself back upwards, Modesty could see the same row of texts on the paper, which floated up in magic and was hung upon a thread to dry.

“What are you doing here?”, asked Modesty and looked back at Gellert.

His eyes shone in pride. “This writing press is a marvel of Muggle invention, isn’t it?”, Gellert Grindelwald explained with a quiet whisper, “It allows me to spread my ideas far and wide. For I cannot always hold speeches like you saw me hold them at the Globe.” He slowly pulled out a fresh sheet from the inside of his cloak. “Froni”, he asked and handed her the sheet, “Do you think you can get this into the print for me as well?”

Froni grabbed the paper and took a look at it. Clicking her tongue, she remarked: “Sure thing, Grindelwald.” The muscular woman then headed to the man with the letters. “Oyh, Peter, think you can get this ready to be printed?” Long, spiny fingers took the papers and the man nodded, before he waved his wand and rearranged the letters on his cases again.

Gellert continued: “The world is not always ready to hear my truth, Modesty. Thus I have to find other ways to spread it across countries. The _One World’s Pamphlet_ is one way of doing that. It is gifted to all those, that yearn for freedom and truth; and delivered by the bravest of the brave.”

As he spoke, Gellert slowly picked up one of the pamphlets, which had already been printed and bound. It was still warm and the ink smelled fresh. Aside from the title, there was a thin and elegant symbol printed upon it. The Elder Wand upside down, surrounded by two hard, stylised Gs and in the triangle formed down there a small circle, which together with the tip of the Elder Wand concluded the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

“And this” – with a slow smile Grindelwald thrust the pamphlet into Modesty’s arms – “is where you come in.”

* * *

Translation: Komm mit mir diesen Nachmittag. Dann klärt sich für dich alles auf. = Come with me this afternoon. Then everything will become clear to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments keep me motivated to write.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the first longer stories I have been writing and am writing. Kudos and comments would mean the world to me.


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